A man knelt, breath ragged, his hands trembling as they pressed against the ground.
Above him, the other man stood firm, gun raised, unwavering. His expression was unreadable—sharp, detached, a man who had done this more times than he cared to count.
"Please," the man on the ground gasped, desperation thick in his voice. "Don't do this."
The shooter exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. "It's just business," he said, voice steady, unaffected. "You understand that, don't you?"
The man swallowed hard. "No—I don't."
The corner of the shooter's lips twitched, just barely. "Now you do."
The gunshot cracked through the room.
Silence.
The shooter tucked the weapon away, turning slightly as his men stepped forward.
"Get rid of him," he ordered.
...
The night air curled around them, cool but not biting, heavy with the quiet hum of the city.
Esmé stood in front of her building, eyes lingering on Noah, warmth flickering in their silence.
Their night had been perfect. She had felt it in every laugh, every glance, every shared thought between them.
He looked at her now, his expression unreadable—but there was something in his gaze. Something waiting.
She knew what should happen next.
She turned slightly, preparing to step inside, but before she could move, he reached for her.
Firm, but careful.
A tug, just enough to make her stop, just enough to make her turn back to him.
And then—
His lips met hers.
Soft, slow, deliberate.
The warmth of his breath mixed with hers, the weight of his hands settling gently at her waist, pulling her close—not forceful, just enough to let her know he wanted her there, pressed against him, fully present in the moment.
Esmé melted into it, felt the pull of his touch, the quiet urgency in the way he deepened the kiss, exploring, savoring.
Her fingers curled against his chest, gripping his shirt lightly, grounding herself in the reality of it—this wasn't something she had planned, something she had manipulated.
This was real.
When they finally broke apart, her lips tingled, breath slightly uneven.
She chuckled softly, amusement flickering in her eyes.
Noah tilted his head, smirking. "What?"
She shook her head, eyes gleaming. "Took your time."
Noah huffed a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing absently against the curve of her waist before she removed his hands, her gaze lingering like she wasn't quite ready to.
She stepped back toward the entrance, her expression teasing but firm. "Goodnight, Noah."
And with that, she disappeared inside.
Noah exhaled, running a hand through his hair, the lingering taste of her kiss still hanging in the air between them.
...
Noah leaned back against his couch, phone pressed to his ear as he let out a satisfied sigh.
"Alright," he said, voice still tinged with amusement. "I just got home."
Seraphina scoffed on the other end. "And you're calling me why? You never give me post-date reports."
Noah smirked. "This one's different."
She hummed knowingly. "Esmé?"
"Esmé," he confirmed.
A pause. Then, Seraphina, ever sharp, chimed in with dry sarcasm, "Well, congrats, brother. You finally found a woman without questionable taste or immediate regrets."
Noah rolled his eyes. "I'm ignoring that."
Seraphina chuckled. "You should."
Noah exhaled, his voice shifting slightly. "It was a good night, Sera. Really good."
Seraphina leaned into the moment. "That right?"
Noah hesitated, just briefly, before admitting, "We kissed."
Seraphina let the word settle. Then—
"Was it tragic?"
Noah laughed. "No, idiot. It was… nice. Like, really nice."
Seraphina grinned through the phone, satisfied. "Well, then. Guess I actually have to take her seriously now."
Noah shook his head, still smiling. "Yeah. I think you do."
...
The sharp buzz of Esmé's phone broke through the quiet of her morning.
She glanced at the screen—an unfamiliar number. The system explains that the call is from jail and if she'll accept the charges.
Prison.
She sighed but answered anyway.
"Why are you in jail?" she asked flatly, skipping right to the point.
The voice on the other end let out a low chuckle. "Haven't seen the news, huh?"
Esmé exhaled through her nose. "Do I look like someone who spends their mornings catching up on crime reports?"
The chuckle deepened. "Same old Esmé. Always sarcastic."
She didn't bother responding. Instead, she let the silence drag until he got to his point.
"So, what do you want?" she asked, voice clipped.
"What, can't a guy call his sister anymore?"
"No."
There was a pause, then another amused scoff from Ethan. "Ruthless."
Their conversation drifted toward past visits—ones Esmé had begrudgingly made, ones Ethan was now calling in as favors.
"You should come see me," he said smoothly, like it wasn't up for debate.
Esmé rolled her eyes. "I don't want to."
"That's unfortunate," Ethan mused. "Because someone will be fetching you tomorrow around lunchtime."
Her grip tightened around the phone. "You're awfully bold for someone behind bars."
Ethan chuckled, unfazed. "What can I say? I make things happen."
Esmé's jaw clenched.
"See you tomorrow, big sister."
And before she could argue, the call clicked dead.
She stared at her phone, irritation simmering beneath the surface.
Tomorrow was going to be a mess.
...
The vibration of her phone pulled Esmé's attention away from her work.
She glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number.
She sighed, already suspecting who it was.
"We're waiting outside."
Esmé's eyes flicked toward the window.
There, parked just beyond the school gates, sat a sleek black Cadillac—its tinted windows swallowing any glimpse of who was inside.
Her jaw tightened.
When lunchtime finally arrived, she wasted no time storming toward the car, yanking the door open before sliding in.
She barely looked at the driver before snapping, "You don't show up at my job. Ever."
The man in the front seat said nothing, simply letting her words settle in the air.
Esmé exhaled sharply, shifting her glare toward Ethan. "And you—you can go to hell."
The man sitting next to her—Ethan's friend, they've been for a while now—let out a quiet chuckle.
Esmé turned toward him, her expression sharp. "Do you think this is funny?"
His smirk barely wavered. "Kind of."
After driving for a while, they finally arrive at the prison center.
The heavy steel doors slammed shut behind Esmé as she stepped into the visitation area.
She had been through this process before. The fluorescent lighting cast a dull, lifeless glow over the room, the air thick with something stale, something suffocating.
She slid into the seat at the phone booth, gripping the receiver before glancing up at the thick pane of glass separating her from the other side.
Ethan.
He walked in casually, like the metal cuffs around his wrists were nothing more than an accessory. Like the world beyond this place didn't exist.
He sat, lifted the phone, and grinned.
"Big sister," he greeted, voice light, far too at ease.
Esmé exhaled, gripping the receiver a little tighter.
Here they were again.