DANCE AMONGST THE DEAD

As he remembered the past. 

The rain was cold, falling in sheets that blurred the edges of the dark alley. Aiden's boots splashed through puddles as he rounded the corner, the distant city noise muffled beneath the storm.

There, huddled against the grimy brick wall, was a girl — barely more than a kid, her small frame trembling under layers of ragged clothes. Her face was pale, her eyes sunken and wild with fear. Bruises and track marks traced cruel lines along her arms, and her lips trembled as she whispered into the night.

"Please… help me…"

Aiden's breath caught.

Something deep inside him stirred — a mix of anger, sorrow, and something harder to name. He knelt beside her, voice soft but firm.

"Hey. You're safe now."

She flinched at first, as if expecting a blow, but then her hands reached out, desperate and shaking. He let her lean on him, felt the fragile weight of her brokenness.

"You don't have to be alone," he said quietly.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing with the rain. For the first time, her voice broke free, raw, trembling.

"I don't know how to stop."

Aiden's jaw clenched. The world around them felt distant, but in that moment, all that mattered was this scared, broken girl and the promise he silently made — that he wouldn't let her fall again.

[A year later…]

The bodies on the floor were cooling.

Connie stood over them, chest heaving. Her clothes clung to her like a second skin, splattered and damp with blood that wasn't hers. She was glowing—not from light, but from something deeper, primal. Her knuckles were raw, her lips parted, a small smirk tugging at the edge.

Aiden stepped out of the shadows, slow and deliberate, the way you'd approach a wild animal. His eyes swept over her—bloodstained, radiant, terrifying.

"You finished?" he asked, his voice low, rough.

Connie turned to him, sweat glistening at her collarbone. "Did you want more?" she said, voice breathless. "I could've left one alive. Just for fun."

That grin—it wasn't the girl he'd pulled from the alley. This was someone reborn in carnage. And God help him, he couldn't look away.

Aiden stepped closer, close enough to smell the copper in the air, the sweat on her skin.

"You changed," he murmured.

"I evolved."

He nodded slowly, then reached out—fingers brushing her jaw, smearing a line of blood across her cheek. She didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Just stared into him with that fire that was no longer survival. It was hunger.

She leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching.

"You afraid of me now?" she whispered.

"No," Aiden said, his voice a whisper against her lips. "I think I finally see you."

And maybe it was wrong, maybe it was twisted—but in that moment, there was nothing gentle. No need for innocence. Just the raw, animal pull between them—pain wrapped in want, history laced with heat.

She kissed him—fierce, biting, desperate.

Aiden didn't stop her. Couldn't.

His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her hip, grounding her, anchoring her to something real. Or maybe he was anchoring himself. Because the girl in his arms wasn't the one he saved. She was something else now. Something he helped unleash.

And for the He knew it wasnt Sticks. He knew it. Felt it in his chest like a splinter shifting under skin.

He stared at the message again.

"yo... You there? It's me. Just wanted to talk."

Too vague. Too clean. Sticks never said, "Just wanted to talk." And that profile—old as hell, barely used since they left Chicago—Sticks would never dig that deep.

But Connie would.

The thought sent a tremor down his spine—not from fear of her, not really. Not anymore. But what she might be dragging with her.

The club. The blood. That laugh.

He remembered the way she looked after it was over, standing in a pool of red with her hands slick and steady, her chest rising and falling like she'd just finished a workout. The light in her eyes had been manic—beautiful, in the most terrifying way.

She'd looked at him like she knew something he didn't. Like she'd already decided how this story ended.

And now she was looking for him.

Not because she needed saving. Those days were long gone. But because he was hers—or had been. And people like Connie didn't let go. Not without a fight.

Aiden stood and crossed the room, the hardwood cool under his bare feet. His breath fogged the window as he stared out at the stillness of Forks, Washington. Trees. Mist. Silence.

She didn't belong here.

She was noise and neon and screams in the alley. She was the night Chicago spat out and forgot to clean up. And if she came—

He pressed his forehead to the glass.

If she came, she wouldn't be alone.

And he didn't know who she was bringing. Or what they'd want from him.

But he knew the world he'd clawed his way out of was cracking open again. A single ping. That's all it took.

He wasn't afraid of Connie showing up.

He was afraid of what came next. First time in a long time, he didn't care.