Jevil Lines Novels & Stories

Outside, the night air cooled her skin, but it did nothing to steady the storm in her chest. She slipped into a cab and headed home. Once inside her apartment, the server hummed to life. Screens lit the dark room like a constellation, her constellation, where she dictated gravity. Clarisse wanted to dig? Fine. Elara would cut the threads before they tangled. She opened her private grid, tracking the contractors Clarisse had unleashed. Already the breadcrumbs she’d planted were pulling them deeper into false markets. One by one, she severed the real access points, leaving Clarisse’s net to close on air.

Cute lips, sharp jawline, and his gelled hair neatly combed to the side. He was breathtaking. I mean, he literally took my breath away…

“His jaw looks like his skull doesn’t have any skin on it. Like, all boney and shit.” “So, chiseled?” Jade asked, voice a little too excited. “Too chiseled,” I snorted. “With eyes that are too blue to be human. And muscles that practically scream steroids. Oh, and not to mention the veins in his hands that would kill him if he held a piece of paper the wrong way.” Silence greeted me from the other end. “Jade?” I asked, trying to make sure my friend wasn’t dead. “Are you there?”

Sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to see too much, and an air of confidence that should have been annoying but somehow wasn't. "Actually, I was just leaving." Emma started gathering her things, but her laptop bag chose that moment to rebel. The zipper stuck, her notebook tumbled to the floor, and her pen rolled under the stranger's feet. He crouched down to retrieve her pen, and Emma caught sight of the title on her fallen notebook's cover: "Heat Between the Lines - Draft 3." Her heart stopped. That was her working title—the one she'd scribbled on the cover without thinking, the one that revealed exactly what kind of book she was struggling to write.

Marcus replied dryly. Marcus lifted his chin, tilting his head back to expose his throat. There, highly visible on his jawline and running down the side of his neck, was a massive, pronounced bruise. It wasn't quite as dark as Ethan's purp-ish mark, but it was easily twice the size, incredibly angry, and impossible to miss. It looked like someone had practically clawed and bit at his neck in a state of sheer, sleep-deprived desperation.

Not because of some moral high ground I’d never actually stood on. She was unstable. She was fragile. She was someone I didn’t even like. The thought made me wince, but it didn’t change. Damian turned, holding two plates, his face lighting up when he saw me watching him. The smile he gave me was easy. Relieved. Almost boyish. Like he hadn’t just redrawn the lines of my life. “Turkey okay?” he asked. I nodded. “Yeah.”

] The post had just gone up when a new friend request popped up at the top of my phone. I opened it. The profile picture was a girl standing with her back to the camera by the sea. At first, I only thought it looked familiar. Then I noticed the strip of ocean in the upper-right corner of the photo, and realization hit me. That was exactly Simon's profile picture. I used to tease him for being so old-fashioned at such a young age, using a landscape as his avatar. Only now did I understand. It had never been a landscape. It was a cropped corner from Ivy's photo.