Page 66 of Kill Feed

This game he’s playing—if it even deserves the name—is precise and perfectly timed. He presses just enough, then disappears before I can close my hand around him. Leaves me with nothing but the aftertaste of it.

“I’m done with this conversation,” I utter unblinkingly as static swirls in my brain, trying to connect the next possible steps.

Dante’s hand rises, not to my waist this time, but to the back of my neck. His fingers slide into the nape, tender yet steady, thumb pressing just under my hairline. “Oh, but I’m not. I’ll never be done with you.”

“You mistake my tolerance for invitation,” I reply, as his figure floods my space in waves.

“Ah, and you mistake restraint for disinterest,” he retaliates.

My jaw tightens.

The pressure at my neck isn’t violent, but it’s dominant. He’s steering without moving me as he claims, “You like this just as much as I do, and that’s going to end up breaking you, my little stray.”

I stand there. Just fucking stand there, allowing this man to touch me. To talk to me like that.

That fucking does it.

I step closer instead of back, eliminating the illusion of him looming. “You’re predictable,” I say, eyes throwing daggers. “You escalate when you feel threatened.”

His fingers tighten for a second, then ease.

“Threatened?” he echoes, amused. “By you?”

“Yes.”

He scoffs, studying my face with optimal interest.

“You let me walk away,” I continue. “It seems you’re the one who’s obsessed, and that is what threatens you. You’re unable to kill me because of it.”

Dante’s eyes widen, and I can see his jaw working. He’s considering my words, but whether it’s because I’m right… or the fact that I just took back control, it doesn’t matter. I am the one steering this now.

He’s about to speak when a voice shatters the atmosphere we’re locked into for God-knows-how long.

“Hey, you’re the guy from the gym, right?” Lucas exclaims as he approaches us. Dante lets go of my nape, taking a step back, lips set in a line and face devoid of any amusement.

“You’re the friend that got beat up,” he replies, pinning his gaze on Lucas, who now folds into himself with the sudden realization.

“I-uhm- yeah…” he utters before turning to me. “Hey man, I need to go. We can do this another time, yeah?” he says, handing me my phone. “Here, you left this on the table.”

“Yeah,” I say, taking the phone, “I’ll walk you out. I’m done here anyway.”

Chapter 18

Adrian

The apartment is quiet in a way that feels staged. With the laptop balanced on my thighs, I scroll through the Nightfall files. Hundreds of images stack on top of each other. Fire arcs frozen mid-spin. Smoke caught in amber light. Masks, movement, and a spectacle of guests scream, laughing and exaggerated scare actors.

Phantom Productions emailed this morning right after my little run-in at the cafe. Selene thanked me for last night. Claiming that she’s excited to see the gallery, asking if I’m able to send a preview selection within forty-eight hours.

All standard and corporately polite.

I replied with something equally sterile before reviewing the shots. I zoom into a frame and adjust the exposure. Shadows lift, and contrast tightens. The fire dancers glow like saints burning from the inside out while the hoard of zombies polishes into something more mystical.

Then he appears. I pause on the image. Even in the confines of my own home, I can’t get rid of him.

Regardless, I take it in. Technically, it’s a perfect shot. The darkened atmosphere frames him from behind, smoke curling around the edges as the depth of field isolates him from the chaos.

He looks like he belongs at the center of something violent and equally worshipped.