Chapter 5

𝘼𝘽𝘽𝙄𝙀

My dad boarded me on the late flight to Paris, which meant I would land there tomorrow morning.

He didn't hug me before I left. He didn't say much either. Just a stiff nod and a quiet, "Call me when you arrive."

Before I left, Dad had informed Ruby that I was coming, and to my almost disbelief, she sounded… happy. Genuinely happy to have me in her home.

That surprised me.

Ruby and my mom were never close. Close was too kind. They were enemies. Ruby was Dad’s younger sister, and from the very beginning, Mom made sure there was always a wall between them.

It wasn't Ruby's fault. It never was.

Mom was always the one who condemned and insulted her, all because Ruby chose to live loudly, freely and vibrantly.

The last time I saw Ruby, I was ten.

I still remember that day clearly. Mom had mocked her relentlessly just because she chose to marry a French man who owned a small barbershop. Mom called it "low class."

Mom didn't attend the wedding.

And she made sure I didn't either.

After that, Ruby disappeared from my life. When I asked Dad about her, he simply said she had moved to Paris after the wedding.

I knew what Mom did to her when she was still living with us. I saw the tears Ruby tried to hide. I heard the insults whispered behind closed doors.

That was why it shocked me that she sounded excited to have me in Paris.

Everyone hated me because of my mom, and I was glad that Ruby wasn't among the list of people who hated me.

I slept almost the entire trip to Paris, exhaustion swallowing my anxiety. But when the plane finally landed the next morning, my heart began to race.

The airport was overwhelming.

Everyone walked too fast, like they were being chased by something invisible. Conversations blended into noise. Most of them were speaking French, and the words flew past my ears like bullets I couldn't dodge. 

I couldn't understand what they were saying.

I felt small.

Lost.

Like a white sheep among black sheep.

Touching my earlobe nervously... a habit I have whenever I felt out of place, I rolled my luggage out of the airport.

The warm Paris breeze welcomed me immediately. It brushed against my skin gently, almost like it was whispering, "You made it."

Paris was beautiful.

Alive.

The buildings stood tall and elegant. The air felt different and lighter.

A smile slowly touched my lips. For the first time in my life… I felt free.

No Mom. No suffocating expectations. No judgmental eyes. I wanted to spread my arms and fly.

My phone rang inside my backpack, snapping me back to reality. I took it out, and my smile widened when I saw Ruby calling.

"Ruby," I said softly, as if she could somehow see the smile on my face through the phone.

"Are you in Paris already?" she asked. Her voice sounded rushed.

"Yes. I just arrived now," I replied, still smiling.

"I'm sorry, Abbie, but I can't come to the airport to pick you up. You should take a cab and tell the driver to take you to L'impasse des Ombres," she said.

"L'impose... what?" I blinked, heat rushing to my cheeks. I couldn't even pronounce it.

"L'impasse des Ombres," she repeated patiently.

"What does that even mean?" I squinted, as if narrowing my eyes would magically help me understand French.

"It's a neighborhood at the far end of Paris. It's popular, anyone knows it. Just tell the cab driver the name," she said.

There was a lot of noise behind her—shouting, music, something crashing.

"What did you say the neighborhood is again?" I muttered.

"L'impasse des Ombres," she replied.

I mastered the words like ten times before hanging up on Ruby. I stopped the first cab I saw and entered.

He spoke in French. With my little knowledge, I guessed he was asking where I was heading.

"L'... impasse... des... Ombres," I struggled to say the words.

He gave me a strange look.

Maybe he could tell I wasn't from here. Anyone could. My accent probably screamed "foreigner."

I rested my head against the seat as the car began to move to L'impasse... whatever the last words were.

I stuck my head slightly out the window, smiling as the wind touched my face. The city was stunning. Tall trees lined the roads. Elegant buildings passed by like something out of a movie.

But then… something changed.

Gradually.

The beauty faded.

The tall trees disappeared.

The clean streets narrowed.

Old buildings replaced the elegant ones. The air felt heavier.

Did Ruby live in the rural part of Paris?

Before I could finish the thought, the car came to a halt.

"You're here," the driver said in broken English.

I nodded and got down from the cab after paying for his services.

And then I really looked around.

My stomach dropped.

The street was narrow and smelled heavily of cigarette smoke and something worse… something rotten.

The buildings were old, and most of the houses had cracked windows. Some of the houses even had bloodstains in them, as if murder was a daily occurrence here.

My fingers tightened around the handle of my yellow luggage.

Fear crawled up my spine.

This was the kind of place dangerous people lived.

The kind of place where gangs ruled.

I could feel it in every fiber of my being.

Suddenly, a group of people rushed past me, knocking me down hard. I hit the wet ground, pain shooting through my back. My clothes were instantly stained.

They didn't even apologize.

They didn't even look back.

They continued running as if they hadn't just knocked someone down.

I couldn't confront them for knocking me down. Each and every one of them screamed danger. They had tattoos all over their bodies, with their hair dyed in colors I didn't know existed.

I was in a dangerously deadly neighborhood, asking them to apologize to me was like asking for my death.

This wasn't the kind of neighborhood where you asked for apologies.

This was the kind of neighborhood where you kept your head down if you wanted to live.

But why would Ruby be living in a dangerous neighborhood like this?

Why?

I shakily stood up. When they knocked me over, my luggage had fallen into a dried pothole.

I tried dragging it out, but it wouldn't budge. It felt stuck, like something underneath was gripping it.

As I struggled to drag it out, a large hand gripped the handle of my luggage.

I froze.

The first thing I noticed was the tattoo on his knuckles.

MERCY NONE was tattooed on his knuckles.

He lifted my luggage effortlessly, like it weighed nothing. And then he started walking away.

I couldn't even see his face. He was wearing a black hoodie, and the hood covered his entire face.

He was dressed entirely in black—like darkness followed him everywhere.

"Thank you," I called out, my voice trembling slightly.

He didn't turn.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't react.

It was like he didn't hear me.

Or like I didn't matter.

The way he walked… calm. Controlled. Dangerous. An aura surrounded him… heavy and suffocating.

My instincts screamed at me to look away.

But somehow…

I couldn't.

I just stood there, staring at the back of a stranger who looked like trouble itself…

And for reasons I didn't understand, I felt drawn to him.