The moonlight looked like silver lozenges of comfort, being chipped apart by the pine tops of the sleepy little town. The road beneath my feet was wet and cold, each step crunching over leaves with a sound louder than my heartbeat. On nights like this, even the streetlights slacked off—one lit, one dark, like the town was slowly blinking.
I was supposed to catch a ride with Dylan. But his podcast recording had been "unexpectedly extended." One second he claimed he had breaking news, the next, some mockingbird impression cut in and he rushed off with a "Don't go through the alleys!" before hanging up.
Well, taking three blocks in the wrong direction and cutting through the cracked stone walls along Maple Street wasn't exactly smart. Ever since rumors about missing animals and strange bloodstains on lawns, my dad nearly issued me pepper spray and a time machine. But I've never been good at following orders. Seeing warm orange glows puffing from other people's chimneys, something reckless in me decided to take the shortcut.
The cold seeped through the cuffs of my old school uniform, wrapping around my hands. I sped up, swallowing the horror movie script forming in my brain. Only an idiot would let their imagination run wild in a dark street past midnight.
Unfortunately, I was exactly that kind of idiot.
My phone buzzed with a notification. Dylan's face popped up on the screen—
[Truck at Maple Street crossing looks like it's straight out of a spy movie. Run. Don't get kidnapped! —Dylan]
"Thanks for the heads-up," I muttered, gripping my phone tighter and pretending the only things in this world were air and Wi-Fi thieves.
I passed the Royal Coal Shop, its stained glass reflecting a shadow of me—long and thin under the moonlight, like a shoelace about to snap. My pace quickened, and for some reason, Lucien's mocking grey-blue eyes came to mind. This morning, he had stood in the classroom doorway like someone defrosted from a supermarket freezer, deadpan-delivering a Friends quote that made every girl in class chew their straws a little harder.
Right now, I wouldn't have minded running into him. Even just to trade jabs in that smug British accent. But Lucien was like the town's ever-present fog—always visible, never quite graspable.
A gust of wind tore off a flyer from a nearby board, spinning it onto the street. I glanced down: Missing Cat—Black, Reward: $200. Too bad I'm better at losing cats than finding them.
Footsteps—other than mine.
Heavier, more solid. Not the rhythm of work boots—more like an ad for police recruitment.
I swallowed and looked around. Something was moving in the blurry patch of trees at the corner. It was soundless, like part of the night itself. My heart skipped, and I almost dropped my phone. Forcing myself not to spiral into panic, I took a few more steps.
"I can hear your heart speeding up."
A voice—unfamiliar, yet familiar—whispered right next to my ear. I nearly dropped dead on the spot.
Lucien was leaning casually against a utility pole, tall and composed. His almost-translucent eyes fixed on me like I was a live specimen from Mars.
"You—" I opened my mouth to shout something, maybe curse, but found myself stifling a laugh instead.
"Do you often enjoy nighttime strolls down Maple Street?" he tilted his head, tone as if he were asking, So what flavor cat food do you prefer?
"Sorry you had to witness the peak of my boring life," I said, pretending to be cool, pocketing my phone like a local who'd seen it all. "What about you? Midnight terrain scouting some kind of transfer student trend now?"
Lucien's lip twitched, barely. "Thought I'd try America's version of air freshener."
The wind caught the hem of his coat, lifting it slightly. Under the streetlamp, his skin looked as pale as that old "Built in 1892" tombstone downtown.
He stepped toward me, and though I stood my ground, unease coiled in my chest like a warning.
"You've got no reason to be here alone at this hour," I said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Following people around gets you a visit to the principal's office, you know?"
Lucien actually smiled, as if reminded of something. "Oh, but I do have a reason."
I was about to clap back when a metallic, sickly-sweet smell curled into the air—like rust and dying roses. From the alley behind us came a low, guttural growl that tore through the night. Every hair on my body stood up. No time for sarcasm now.
Lucien's gaze sharpened. In the blink of an eye, he stepped in front of me—like a polished aristocrat who'd suddenly been thrown into a horror film.
"Don't make a sound," he said, low and firm, in a voice I couldn't argue with.
Something lunged from the trees. It looked like a black dog, but its limbs were too long, its back arched with bristling fur, and its eyes gleamed with an unnatural yellow.
It growled, baring jagged teeth. This wasn't just dangerous—it was deadly.
My knees almost gave out, but I forced myself to stay upright, not scream.
Lucien didn't speak. He simply shielded me, his fingers taut, ears twitching like he was built for this. I remembered Dylan joking that Lucien was "an over-prepped alien in disguise." Right now, he looked more like a superhero who forgot to change out of his school uniform.
The beast snarled again—and pounced.
I instinctively raised my backpack, as if it could save me, like a meat stick thrown to a wolf.
And then—everything blurred.
Lucien moved faster than any camera could follow. The creature slammed into something invisible midair, thrown back like it hit an iron wall. It crashed near a trash can with a sickening thud—all bone and muscle against metal.
Lucien didn't even flinch. Calmly, he walked toward the beast. There was no pity in his expression—just a cold, efficient stillness. The kind that harvests leaves in winter without a second thought.
The creature tried to rise, trembling—but Lucien reached out, fingers ghosting over its neck. He whispered something I couldn't catch. The thing convulsed… then went still. Like a puppet with the power cut.
I stumbled backward and landed on the damp gravel, breathless. The world shrank to the scent of blood and the pounding in my ears.
Lucien turned back, knuckles red, his gaze calculating. Like he was deciding whether to explain—or keep pretending.
"You're not hurt." Not a question. More like a command. Surprisingly gentle.
I tried to nod, but my lips felt numb. "What… what did you do?"
He paused, then picked up my backpack and handed it to me. "Mutated squirrel."
I bit my lip. My mind kept replaying what I'd just seen—the impossible speed, the way he handled that thing.
"You think I'll believe that?" I asked, clinging to the pack, meeting his eyes. Under the moonlight, his age was unreadable—only shadows of detachment and something ancient.
He dipped his head slightly. "If you're smart, you won't ask."
"You afraid I'll know?"
He actually looked annoyed. "It's not what you're thinking… not some cliché vampire movie plot."
I let out a shaky laugh. "Alright. So, what now? You walking me home, or turning into a bat and flying off?"
"Highly inappropriate," he replied seriously. "And the American air is terrible—bad for circulation."
I snorted, oddly comforted by that cool sarcasm. He led the way, steering us around the still-whispering shadow near the alley, slipping past an old mossy wall.
The streetlamp ahead cast two long shadows—his and mine. Somewhere nearby, a bird gave a shrill cry and went silent. I matched my steps to his, pretending I'd always been chill with monsters.
"…Thanks, I guess," I finally said, my voice raspy.
Lucien glanced over. For a moment, his expression softened. "Don't mention it."
We walked two more blocks in silence. My steps kept drifting closer to his, like trying to borrow a bit of the strange calm he carried. He smelled faintly of old paperbacks and rain—a weird, oddly comforting scent.
When we reached my house, Dad's car wasn't back yet. The porch stood like a weary nightwatchman, guarding old truths.
"About tonight—" I started, but Lucien's brows furrowed again.
"Don't tell anyone. I'm not being controlling—just trying to protect you." He hesitated, voice gentler. "And myself."
The air between us thickened. Secrets hung there like magnets pulled taut—unwilling to part, unable to touch.
I nodded, aiming for casual. "Not like I had anyone to tell about my monster-date-night anyway. You're safe."
Lucien let out a soft chuckle, like he'd finally talked his inner demon off a ledge. "See you tomorrow, Liv."
He didn't vanish into the night immediately. He waited until I opened the door before murmuring, "Get some rest."
I turned to look. He stood beneath the porch light, frozen like a scene from memory. Then the shadows took him, and even the moonlight seemed to pause.
I shut the door, leaning back against the wood, trying to catch my breath. Everything had changed: Maple Street's midnight, Lucien wasn't just the new kid, and I wasn't just the small-town skeptic anymore.
Upstairs, Dad's keys jangled in the lock.
I exhaled, walked to the kitchen, and gently set my backpack down—my fingers still trembling a bit.
Outside, the wind still blew. Quiet, familiar. But I could feel it—something was awakening. My world had finally shifted from monotony to something raw, deadly, and real, flickering at the edge of midnight.