Page 37 of Ruin Me Gently

A small, flickering flame burst from the end of the barrel, dancing for a second before vanishing.

Silence.

“It looks like something a Bond villain would pull out right before monologuing,” she said with a snicker.

“Dramatic for dramatic,” I shrugged. “It’s the only language Clark understands.”

She smirked, sipping her coffee. “Well, at least you’re leaning into it.”

I rolled it between my hands. It had been years since I’d actually used it for anything other than to light candles. But back then, when I first bought it, it had meant something else entirely.

I’d been living in a hostel—a revolving door of people, voices too loud in the halls, fist fights left, right, and centre. I never really felt safe there.

I was scared shitless of guns. But this lighter? It had been enough to make melookscary, without the very real fear of accidentally shooting someone.

It was all perception. The illusion of power. How something harmless in function could be deadly in appearance. How people saw what they were conditioned to fear.

And fear? It was a currency.

And tonight, illusion or not, I was the one cashing in.

“Lils—” A hand shook my shoulder, hard. “Lils, wake up. I think he’s here.”

My eyes shot open, and I jumped up so fast my heart practically ejected itself from my chest.

Molly’s face was way too close, eyes wide and serious.

“I—what?” I croaked, my voice thick, slurred with exhaustion.

“Clark. I think I heard him,” she hissed.

“Shit,” I muttered, stumbling to my feet and blinking rapidly, trying to clear the gritty dryness gluing my eyes half shut. I’d fallen asleep. Idiot.

I grabbed the lighter-gun from the table and fumbled blindly toward the door. My fingers shook as I twisted the deadbolt and yanked it open.

My gaze dropped to the small box sitting dead centre on my doorstep. And then my eyes snapped up, to where a figure was just stepping onto the sidewalk.

My grip tightened on the gun, chest burning with adrenaline, fury, exhaustion.

“Hey, asshole!” My voice cut through the stillness. “No more games!”

He went completely rigid.

I tried to take a steadying breath, but my chest was too tight. Something was wrong.

Too tall.

Too broad.

That wasn’t Clark.

I squinted, trying to make sense of it, head spinning as my brain scrambled for an explanation.

“Are you… Has he got you doing this shit for him?” I asked.

The figure didn’t move, didn’t turn, didn’t react.

The stillness pressed in on me, thick and suffocating, the kind that only comes in the early hours of the morning. The sky was still tinged with nighttime indigo, but the first streaks of pale pink stretched over the rooftops, bathing the street in a soft glow.

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