POV: Third-person limited — Nyx Vale
"Don't go."
The word broke on his tongue like it hurt him to say it.
Nyx paused with one heel in her hand, standing near the door while the city was still blue with almost-morning. The penthouse smelled like sex and expensive candles and the faint, desperate warmth of a man who'd forgotten himself overnight.
She didn't turn around.
"You don't even know my real name," she said calmly.
Behind her, the sheets rustled. Bare feet hit marble. He came closer, careful, like he was approaching something that might disappear if he moved too fast.
"I know enough," he said. "I know how you look when you laugh. I know the scar on your hip. I know you don't sleep on your left side."
Nyx slid the heel on and stood, smoothing her dress. Black. Simple. Forgettable. Everything she wore was designed to vanish from memory once she wanted it to.
"Those aren't anchors," she said. "They're details."
He reached for her arm.
She let him touch her—just long enough for hope to spark.
Then she stepped away.
"Nyx," he said, voice rough. "Just stay for coffee."
She finally turned. His face was open, unguarded, the kind of naked men didn't realize was more revealing than their bodies. Successful, powerful, used to being obeyed. He'd been commanding rooms for twenty years. Last night, he'd melted the moment she listened.
She smiled at him. Soft. Apologetic. Deadly.
"I don't stay," she said.
The words weren't cruel. They were simply true.
She picked up her clutch and walked out as the first line of sun cut across the skyline. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality that felt, to her, like relief.
The elevator ride down was silent, glass walls reflecting a woman who looked untouched by the night. Nyx checked her reflection—not for vanity, but for evidence. No smudged mascara. No visible marks. No story written on her skin.
Good.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. Burner. Always the burner.
She didn't open it yet.
There were rules. There had always been rules.
Rule one: Never stay past dawn.
Rule two: Never give your real name twice.
Rule three: Never fall asleep before they do.
Rule four: Never believe the way they look at you in the morning.
Rule five was the most important.
Never get attached.
The elevator chimed. She stepped into the quiet lobby, heels whispering against marble. The concierge nodded politely. He didn't recognize her. They never did. That was the point.
Outside, the city breathed around her—traffic beginning to stir, streetlights blinking out one by one. Nyx walked two blocks before stopping beneath an awning and finally unlocking her phone.
She opened the recording app first.
The file from last night was already there. Time-stamped. Encrypted. Clean.
She pressed play.
Her own voice filled her ear, soft and curious.
And you never worried someone would find out?
Then his—confident, amused, careless.
Why would I? Everyone who matters is taken care of.
Nyx stopped the playback and saved the file to a hidden folder. Her pulse stayed steady. It always did during this part. The rush wasn't in the taking. It was in the knowing.
She opened a second app—no icon, no name. Just a list.
Names. Dates. Status markers.
Most were gray. Closed. Finished.
A few were red. Active.
She scrolled until she found the newest entry and tapped it.
MARCUS REED
Real estate magnate
City zoning board
Confessed: 00:47–02:13
She added a note with clinical precision.
Eager to impress. Thinks attention equals loyalty. Weak point: legacy.
Nyx locked the phone and slipped it back into her clutch.
She didn't feel bad. That was the mistake people made about women like her—assuming the absence of guilt meant the absence of feeling. Nyx felt everything. She'd simply learned which emotions were useful and which ones got you killed.
A car slowed beside her. Window rolling down.
"Hey," a man called. "You need a ride?"
She glanced at him once. Young. Hopeful. Already imagining a version of her that belonged to him.
"No," she said, polite and firm.
He drove off.
Nyx kept walking.
She showered in her own apartment—small, clean, anonymous. No mirrors she didn't need. No photographs. No signs of a life that could be traced.
Steam fogged the glass as she leaned back against the tile and let the water run over her face. For exactly ten seconds, she allowed herself to remember the man's hands, the way his voice had softened when he thought he was safe.
Then she shut it down.
After, she dressed and brewed coffee she wouldn't finish. Her laptop waited on the counter, already open. She plugged in her phone and watched files upload, transfer, disappear.
Information was power.
And power was safest when it moved quietly.
Her other phone—the real one—vibrated.
Nyx stilled.
This phone almost never rang.
She answered without speaking.
"You're moving fast," a man said on the other end. Older. Controlled. Dangerous in the way men became when they'd survived too long.
"Time doesn't wait," Nyx replied.
A pause. "You were seen."
Her fingers tightened around the mug. "By whom?"
"Someone who recognizes patterns."
Nyx's reflection stared back at her from the dark laptop screen. Calm. Focused. Untouchable.
"I'm careful," she said.
"I know," he replied. "That's why I'm calling."
She closed her eyes briefly. "What do you want?"
"There's a new name," he said. "One I didn't want to give you."
Nyx's heartbeat skipped. Just once.
"Why give it to me now?"
"Because he asked about you."
The room felt colder. "That's not possible."
"He's very good at finding ghosts."
Nyx set the mug down untouched. "Send it."
The file came through instantly.
She opened it.
And for the first time in years, her breath caught.
ADRIAN HALE
City councilman
Ethics probe pending
Status: Aware
Aware.
Nyx stared at the screen, the weight of the word pressing into her chest. This wasn't a careless man who'd drunk too much and talked too freely. This was a man already unraveling, already looking for the hand that pulled the thread.
Men like that didn't beg.
They hunted.
Her burner phone buzzed in her clutch, as if on cue.
One new message.
Unknown number.
You forgot something.
Nyx didn't reply.
She stood very still in the quiet of her apartment, two phones glowing like twin threats in her hands, the city waking up below her.
For the first time in a long while, the rules trembled.
And Nyx Vale smiled—slow, sharp, and knowing—because danger had finally learned her name.