Page 16 of Sins of the Hidden

Cars rushed past on the street, their headlights creating long shadows that seemed to reach for me like grasping fingers. V's grip found my arm, yanking me away from the curb. He positioned himself between me and traffic like he could shield me from danger, but my mind screamed: the only threat here was him. Hadn't he promised that once? Claimed he was protecting me even as he carried me to a basement full of ash and burnt remains? The contradiction threatened to snap my sanity, each gentle touch erasing the lines between captivity and care.

We walked in strained silence, tension winding tighter with every step until it felt ready to snap. I couldn't breathe without tasting smoke, ashes, decay. I couldn't look at him without seeing the crematorium behind him—industrial ovens yawning wide, metal glowing faintly like a mouth that devoured secrets. Had he dragged another body down there tonight? Or was the next one waiting, trembling, trapped in their own reflection? My mind scrambled desperately for something safe to say—something soft enough to slip past his defenses—but the words tumbled out raw, fractured by nerves and uncertainty.

"Just... let me breathe. I promise I'm not going anywhere."It's not like you'd let me.

He stopped walking, grabbing my wrist. Then he bent, lowering his face inches from mine. Eyes empty. He stared. And stared. He lingered so near it felt like the air between us didn't belong to me anymore. "No."

Then he walked again, dragging me behind him like the conversation never happened.

I wrapped my free arm around myself, the sweat-soaked cotton clinging like an accusation. V's gaze swept over me, lingering on my clothes.

"Dance class." It wasn't a question. Of course he knew—he always knew everything about me.

"Faith invited me," I whispered, fingers finding the hem of my shirt.

A dangerous sound emerged from behind his mask. "With them watching."

Heat flooded my face as I thought of Knight and Tyrant. "They... they weren't... I mean, it wasn't like..." Words failed me, and I clamped my mouth shut before I could make it worse.

"You were the only one wearing a shirt." My heart stopped. V loomed behind me, his shadow stretching ominously across the concrete.

"Y-Yeah."

"Why?"

I couldn't meet his gaze. "I-I don't look like them."

He didn't blink. Didn't move. Just waited—like he already knew the answer and wanted to hear me say it wrong. I clenched the hem of my shirt like it could hide me. "I'm not..." I swallowed hard. "I'm not skinny like they are."

V crowded me against the wall, his enormous frame blocking out the rest of the world. My hands found his cut instinctively. Blood and leather filled my nose, leaving me lightheaded.

"Never." The word tore out of his throat as a growl, his eyes blackening to something frightening. "Never talk about yourself like that."

I released his cut but remained trapped between him and the wall. "It's true?—"

"No."

"That's how everyone sees me." It was no more than a whisper, but that truth carried the weight of years spent trying to change myself, hiding.

Something shifted in V's stance—alert to vulnerability—and I forced myself to maintain eye contact. Despite every instinct screaming at me to look away from those hollow eyes, I was tired of hiding. Tired of feeling hunted.

His free hand lifted, hovering near my face without touching, and I watched his fingers curl into a fist before dropping back to his side. It shouldn't have felt tender, but it did—like danger pretending it knew how to be soft.

The brick scraped my back through my shirt, grounding me in a moment that felt increasingly unreal. "You don't know what it's like." My voice cracked on the last word, betraying everything I tried to keep locked away. "You don't know how they look at me, what they say?—"

"I know." His fingers flexed on the bat, the wood creaking under his grip. Blood flaked from the surface like rusted stars, too dead to shine.

The admission settled into my marrow like ice water. Of course he did. He was always there, materializing from shadows, appearing in reflections—a dark guardian I never asked for but couldn't seem to escape.

Each breath felt like swallowing glass. Every sideways glance, every whispered comment, every moment I thought I was alone with my shame—he'd witnessed it all. Warmth burned a humiliating trail up my neck. Or maybe just embarrassment.

His head tilted, studying my face with that unnerving focus. The bat tapped once against the ground, an oddly gentle sound that still made me flinch.

"Scared?"

The question carried layers—was I scared of him? Of being seen? Of what it meant that part of me had grown used to his constant presence?

"If..." My fingers twisted in my shirt, the cold fabric pressing to my skin like a bruise. "If I ask you to leave, will you?"

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