A City in the Dark

Halcyon Falls used to be beautiful. The kind of place postcards bragged about—a skyline cut with old neon marquees, rows of anemone-bright lamp posts, murals rippling down alleys, color spilled on brick. But the kind of beauty you clutch too tight always fades. Night swallows up the city now, swallowing more with every sunset.

It's Thursday, and rain spits sideways against the glass windows of Sunhollow Diner. The neon sign outside hums like a persistent headache. Lila Moore sits alone in a cracked vinyl booth, back pressed against the wall.

She stares at her phone, thumb flicking an endless scroll of news. Another missing person—a girl from her college, vanished near the river walk two nights ago. Lila’s stomach knots. Beneath a headline about another rise in robberies, someone’s posted shaky phone footage of sirens screaming down the main drag.

A couple laughs two tables over, big, open sounds that thicken the air. Lila tucks into herself, collar up, hair an auburn shield around her face. She checks the exits, counts the people—habit. She stands, tray in hands, mind already a step ahead to the short, wet sprint home. Her chest feels tight. A man in a heavy coat shouts at his phone by the register. She weaves around him, apologizing under her breath, even though he doesn't hear.

Outside, the world is silver and rain-soaked. Halcyon Falls’ skyline looms ahead, glass and old stone scraped by the drizzle. Lila hurries up 40th, sticking close to the buildings. The night is just beginning but already heavy, as if the rain weighs on her skin.

As she crosses a shadowed lot, a sharp cry slices through the gloom. She freezes. Three figures by the dumpsters: a man on the ground, two bigger ones standing over him. A fist flashes in the streetlight. The man pleads, voice high, desperate—his words run together, wet and panicked. One of the attackers curses, yanking at something the victim clutches.

Lila flattens against the wall. Fear roots her, sticky and cold. Call the cops, her mind whispers, but her hands are shaky, phone slippery. She stares at the glowing screen and can't make herself move.

The mugger roars, kicks the prone man, snatches a wallet. Laughing, they disappear into the blur of rain. The victim groans, curling onto his side. Lila’s breath comes fast, loud in her head. She waits, still hidden, until the men are truly gone, and the man limps to his feet, bleeding, trembling. She wants to move—help, call out—but instead she ducks her head and slips away, silent and invisible.

She doesn't remember the walk home. She only remembers the guilt, black and sticky, clinging to every step.

---

Lila’s apartment is high up, overlooking the city. Her hands tremble as she unlocks the door. It’s small—one cluttered bedroom, walls cluttered with old science posters and snapshots of her mom. Outside, sirens wail, lonely against the rain.

She paces, over and over, the memory looping through her chest like rope tightening. She pours tea, but her hands shake too badly. She puts the mug down so hard it chips.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll talk about it. Tommy will crack a joke, say people get mugged all the time, but she’ll see the worry underneath. Or maybe she’ll say nothing. Like always.

Sleep won't come. She scrolls the news, then locks her phone away. Shadows flicker in the corners of her room, shifting with the headlights outside. She can't stop replaying the man’s cry, the blank terror that froze her legs.

At some point, the shadows start to feel... thicker. Deeper. They reach for her, bend toward her. Her chest tightens. Her eyelids drift closed, heavy as stone.

That’s when it happens—a sensation sharp and bright behind her ribs, something fracturing. The darkness in the corners of her vision pulses, then glows. Suddenly, she’s somewhere else: standing outside herself, in a world of just light and shadow. The shape of her hands is silky, molten obsidian. Something in her chest pulses, threads of silver lacing her veins.

A voice—her own, but stronger—echoes inside her skull. See. Do something.

She jerks awake in bed, sweating, breath coming hard. Her heart pounds, but her limbs ache with unfamiliar energy, hot and cold all at once. In the weak light before sunrise, shadows seem to slip beneath her skin, twitching to a silent rhythm.

Lila sits bolt upright, pressing her palms to the bedsheets. They shimmer faintly in the dimness. Her marks—the half-moon scars from long-ago glass—catch the light and throw it in jagged patterns.

Without thinking, she stretches her hand. The dark at the edge of the room pools and curls, responding to her. She gasps, yanking her hand back. The shadows collapse and swirl, silent witnesses.

For the first time in years, she feels something crack through the numbness. Not just fear—something sharper. A possibility.

The city is still out there, bruised and dangerous. But now, maybe, so is she.