CHAPTER 2: ESCAPE IN THE DARK

Ava POV

I lie curled on my side in the massive bed that still smells faintly of Kale. Every time I take a breathe it reminds me of him.

I haven’t moved since Aunt Mara left hours ago after trying to make me talk and it yielded no results.

She brings me chicken soup but the tray sits on my dresser untouched and cold now.

My phone buzzes somewhere under the covers. I don’t look. It's Theo, probably. Or one of the elders. Or worse—someone asking if I’m okay.

I’m not okay.

The sun sets, plunging the room into darkness. When I finally sit up, the clock on the nightstand glows 10:47 p.m.

My head is pounding and my mouth tastes like ash.

Nyra is still silent, tucked so far away she might as well be gone.

I can’t stay here.

This bed. This room. This entire wing of the house where he used to pull me under the covers and whisper stupid jokes against my neck until I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Every inch of it now feels poisoned.

I get off the bed open my closet and grab the nearest thing a sweater and jeans, I grab my keys from the dresser with Shaky hands,shove my feet into a sneaker by the door and pull a black hoodie over my head

I slip down the servants’ staircase, avoiding every camera and patrol route I know by heart.

The night air is cold when I get to the garage,I hop into the oldest jeep, the one with no GPS tracker and drive. Thanks to my aunt Mara, basically all cars have GPS installed since my parents' death.

I drive with no plan. No direction. Just away.

I get into the highway, the city glowing in the distance, Human streets with Loud music spilling from open windows.

I drive until the pack scent is gone from my skin, until the road narrows and the buildings grow taller.

Eventually I pull into a multi-level parking garage beneath a sleek glass tower.

The sign above the entrance pulses purple and gold: VELVET NIGHT — Hotel | Lounge | Club

I don’t think, I just go in.

The lobby is dimly lit, with black marble all around and low amber lights.

Music thumps from somewhere deeper inside. I walk straight to the bar that wraps around the side of the club floor.

It’s crowded but not suffocating. I slide onto a stool at the far end trying to get away from me as much as I can.

The bartender is a guy that looks twenty-five,with dark hair tied back, sleeve tattoos curling up his forearms. He leans over immediately im seated “What can I get you?”

“Something that burns,” I say. My voice is rough from crying.

He studies me for half a second, then nods like he’s seen this look before.

He pours a double shot of something amber and slides it over with a glass of water I ignore.

I take it in one gulp. It burns like fire racing down my throat before settling in my chest.Good that's just what I needed.

“Another.”i call out to the bartender and he comes and refills my glass.

Then another. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth, the edges of the world begins to soften.

The music feels distant and I feel like I'm floating. My head feels light as a feather and my skin prickles.

I laugh at something the bartender says and he laughs too, easy and warm.

“You’re not driving tonight, are you?” he asks after I sway a little on the stool.

I blink at him but he blurs before me and the room tilts. “Probably… not.”

He reaches under the bar, pulls out a small black keycard and leans in close so only I can hear over the bass. “We’ve got rooms upstairs. Take this. Room 614. The elevator’s to the left, sixth floor. Go sleep it off. No charge—I’ve got you. You look terrible.”

He presses the keycard into my palm. His fingers are warm. Mine are ice.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

He gives me a small, careful smile. “Take care of yourself, yeah? And remember no matter what happens don't stay down.”

I nod. Or try to. Then I slide off the stool.

The walk to the elevator feels endless. My legs are heavy, my head fuzzy and hot.

Sweat beads along my hairline even though the AC is blasting. My skin feels too tight, like I’m burning from the inside out. The alcohol, maybe.

The elevator dings and opens up to the sixth floor. The hallway is quiet, carpet muffling my uneven steps. Numbers swim in front of my eyes.

614… 615… 616…

I stop in front of what I think is 614. Or maybe it’s 619. I don't know.The digits blur and my head spins.

I’m so hot and so tired. I just need to lie down.

There’s a door directly across from me. No number visible from this angle. It looks close enough.

I fumble the keycard against the reader. It beeps red once. I try again then push the handle down the door swings open.

The room is dark with a wide bed in the center that calls out to me.

I stumble inside, kicking the door shut behind me.I yank off my hoodie clumsy throwing it somewhere in the room. I collapse face-first onto the mattress, the sheets cool against my fevered skin.

The world tilts, spins, fades.

I don’t notice the faint scent that lingers in the air—I don’t hear the shower running in the attached bathroom.

I don’t see the shadow that steps out a moment later, towel slung low around narrow hips, water still dripping from dark hair because I’m already half-gone, welcoming the darkness.