FRAGMENTED IDENTITY

Chapter Three
Cracks in the Mask

The alley reeked of oil, blood, and burnt metal. Elira hadn't meant to be there.
Her shift at St. Liora's General had dragged on later than usual. A code blue turned into a double-code. The replacement nurse had called in sick. By the time she peeled off her scrubs and rubbed the stiffness from her shoulders, the moon had already climbed high above the skyline. Then came the final insult-the hospital parking garage was closed for fumigation. No warning. No notice. Just a taped-up sign and a security guard with a bored shrug.

So she walked. Through streets she didn't normally tread, following half-lit sidewalks and silent intersections. She clutched her messenger bag tighter against her ribs, phone gripped in her free hand. The usual twenty-minute bus route home stretched into an hour on foot, made worse by a detour. One wrong turn. One construction-blocked street forcing her off the main road and down a side path lined with chain-link fences and graffitied brick.
That was when she heard them-voices. Low, angry. Sharp like broken glass.

She should have turned around. She should've backed away, called for help, run. But she didn't. Maybe it was the name she caught-Kael Thorne. Maybe it was the flicker of movement, the way the world suddenly slowed around her like a scene folding into itself. She crouched behind a rusted dumpster, its edges sticky with something she didn't want to name. Her breath puffed in shallow clouds. The shadows stretched like fingers, and the orange glow of a dying neon sign above them flickered on and off, like a heartbeat losing rhythm. Then she saw him.

Not the bleeding man who had collapsed in her kitchen two weeks ago, eyes glazed with pain and desperation. Not the ethereal figure plastered across digital billboards, haloed by stage lights and artificial smiles.

No.

This Kael was something else entirely. He stood with rigid elegance in the middle of the alley, all black leather and shadows, his face half-illuminated by neon. His arm was extended, unwavering, the steel glint of a gun in his hand. A man knelt before him, hands lifted in trembling surrender, voice cracking in broken pleas.

"I didn't mean to cross you-I swear, I didn't know-"

Kael said nothing. There was a glint of silver. A suppressed gunshot.

Pfft.

Then silence.

The man collapsed, limbs folding in on themselves like a marionette with cut strings. Elira's breath caught.

Too loud.

Too late.

Kael's head snapped toward her hiding place.

Their eyes locked.

For a moment-no more than a heartbeat-neither moved. She could see it then: the shift in his expression. The professional mask faltering, the flicker of something behind his eyes. Confusion. Curiosity. Recognition not quite formed. Then she bolted. Her sneakers scraped the slick pavement, echoing between alley walls. Her pulse thundered in her ears as adrenaline surged like wildfire. But before she could reach the alley's mouth, a hand-strong, unyielding-grabbed her from behind. She let out a scream, but it was cut off by a gloved palm.

"Who the hell-" the voice growled against her ear, low and dangerous. Then it stopped. His grip loosened-just slightly. Recognition dawned.

He turned her toward him, just enough to see her face. The damp hair clinging to her cheeks. The oversized shirt she'd thrown on in a hurry. Her eyes, wide and unblinking.