5. Shards of Night

By midnight, Anthony arrived at his shop with his friends in the gang and Bastian.

Belle rushed into her brother’s arms, crying again out of worry for their parents.

"They're fine," Anthony reassured her as he held her shoulders. "Thank God Bastian found you and brought you here. I never thought things would get so out of control at City Hall.”

“Who was behind it?” Belle asked.

“Protesters. But I don’t understand why it turned into a riot.”

Belle immediately remembered what she’d seen before the chaos began. Strange figures had slipped into the back of City Hall before the blackout, and the first objects were thrown.

That wasn’t spontaneous. It was planned.

“I’ll take you home,” Anthony said. “Wait here while I change.”

He headed upstairs, leaving Belle with his friends. She sat quietly, too embarrassed to even sneak a glance at Bastian.

As for Bastian? He acted as if nothing had happened between them.

“Your hand’s hurt, Belle?” one of the guys, Nick, asked.

Belle nodded. "Yeah, but Bastian already treated it."

"Oh, oh—Bastian to the rescue," Kyle teased.

The group—Kyle, Nick, and Peter—burst out laughing. Bastian only gave them a cold glance as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the table. Soon, smoke curled around him.

Belle's eyes flicked to him unintentionally. Seeing Bastian's lips draw on the cigarette sent a jolt through her. Heat rushed through her chest, her skin, and her memory.

Those lips had already traveled across her body.

Those rough hands had touched her in ways that still made her shiver.

Belle pushed the thought away, her breath catching.

"Tell Anthony I'll be waiting in the car," she blurted, standing up.

She hurried out of the shop. Behind her, she could hear Pooh complaining, "Belle doesn't smoke—you shouldn't light up around her!"

The door shut, muffling the rest. Belle walked toward Anthony’s truck, which was parked along the street, her heart pounding.

No matter how hard she tried, Belle couldn’t shake the memory of Bastian’s touch: the raw passion and frightening intensity that, God help her, she already craved again.

"No, no, no," Belle whispered in panic.

Something warm and heavy dropped across her shoulders—a jacket. Belle’s breath hitched in hope. She turned.

But it wasn’t Bastian.

It was Anthony, already moving to the driver’s side.

“Come on, Belle,” he said sharply.

She only nodded, glancing one last time toward the shop. But Bastian never came out.

Not even when Anthony’s old pickup pulled away from the curb.

Downtown was still sealed off by the police. Flashing lights and barricaded patrol cars lined the streets.

“Why would they do that? Destroy city property?” Belle muttered.

"Because the city won't listen to the people," Anthony said bitterly. "That mall project was rejected, but they're pushing it through anyway."

“But Dad said the park would be moved to a better location.”

Anthony scoffed. "Yeah, Dad says that because he's on the city council. He won’t make money if the project gets shut down.”

Belle could hear the anger and disappointment in his voice. She didn’t reply. Their father was the family's provider. Anthony, on the other hand, sided with the protesters.

When they reached the Watsons’ home, he walked her to the porch.

“You’re not coming in? Mom and Dad are worried about you, too,” she said.

Anthony shook his head. “I already saw them, remember?”

“Can’t we at least stay together here tonight? Things are dangerous downtown.”

"I'll take my chances." Anthony cleared his throat. "Besides, I don't feel like fighting with Dad again."

“Fighting? About what?”

"That this riot wasn't just the protesters' doing," Anthony muttered. He looked away.

"Then Dad started ranting, blaming it on gangs and guys from the underground. And, of course, in the end, he pointed the finger at me.”

Belle’s chest tightened with pity. None of it had anything to do with Anthony.

"Maybe I should actually join in, just to prove him right," Anthony said with a dry laugh.

“Don’t say that,” Belle begged. "You could explain it to Dad. This is just a difference of opinion, isn't it?"

“You don’t understand, Belle. You’re still a kid.”

“But—”

“Go inside. They’ve been waiting for you all night.”

Anthony waved briefly, climbed back into his truck, and drove off toward downtown.

Belle dragged herself up the steps, her heels clicking against the porch. She opened the front door just as hurried footsteps rushed from inside.

“Belle!” Mrs. Watson threw her arms around her daughter. "We were so worried. We even reported you missing. We were terrified! Thank God you’re safe.”

Belle gave a tired smile. “I’m okay, Mom.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“I went to Anthony’s shop. I stayed there for safety."

"Oh, thank goodness." Her mother wiped her tears away. "I'll make you some hot chocolate. Come, sweetheart.”

Belle was still wrapped in her mother’s arms when they passed the living room. Mr. Watson stepped out of his study, and his face crumpled. He hugged Belle tightly, tears in his eyes.

“My baby,” he choked. “Thank God you’re safe, pumpkin.”

“Yeah. Bastian saved me," Belle said, emphasizing his name. She hoped her father wouldn't think poorly of Anthony and his friend.

"At least they're good for something," Mr. Watson muttered curtly.

“Hot chocolate—let’s go,” Mrs. Watson cut in, trying to smooth over the moment.

They sat at the dining table while her parents recounted what they had experienced. All the while, Belle’s heart ached with guilt.

While her parents had searched frantically for her, she had done something unforgivable with Bastian.

Yet deep down, Belle couldn’t deny it—she felt like she’d become a woman tonight. She had been touched by a man who was older, stronger, and more dangerous.

“Belle? Are you all right?” her mother asked gently.

“Yeah, I just…” Belle faltered.

"I think Belle needs to rest," said Mr. Watson, glancing at the clock above the refrigerator. "It's after midnight. Go on up, Belle. Everything will be fine.”

Belle nodded, excused herself, and climbed the stairs. At her bedroom door, she hesitated, then turned back around.

“Dad, what about your job? With everything that's happening?"

"It won't affect anything. My work will go on as usual.”

Belle couldn’t tell if that was good news or bad. She finally stepped into her room and collapsed onto her bed.

But Bastian’s image wouldn’t leave her mind: His touch, his kiss, his rough voice calling her “Sparrow.” It consumed her.

She reached for her phone.

"My phone!" she gasped.

It was gone. Belle had probably accidentally left it behind at City Hall.

"Damn it," she muttered.

Her laptop pinged with a new email. Belle scrambled from the bed to her desk. The message was from an unknown address.

"Is this your phone? I’ll leave it with Anthony.”

The signature made her heart jolt:

Bastian.