Moonlit Vengeance

Fragments Of Trust

"Trust is fragile - one explicit moment of tenderness can shatter under the weight of a single violent betrayal. The raw edges of last night's chaos still cling to me, fueling a growing suspicion that nothing I hold dear can ever be truly safe in this unrelenting world."

-

Morning crawls into the city in a wash of sallow light, the polluted sky pressing down on concrete towers and graffiti-marred alleyways. The neon signs that ruled the darkness for so many hours now flicker uselessly, spent of their fierce glow. Each faltering blink highlights the grime of the sidewalks, the broken bottles shimmering like cheap jewels, and the stains of conflict that no amount of rain will wash away.

My body aches in protest with every movement, a relentless reminder of the bloodshed that defined the previous night. Fresh bruises bloom across my ribs and arms, half-healed lacerations throb in time with my pulse, and a ragged bandage peeks out from under my jacket collar. The acrid tang of gunpowder still clings to my hair, mingling with the sweat and smoke that seem permanently etched into my skin. I can’t shake the sense that I’m dragging the city’s filth with me wherever I go.

Slipping through a maze of backstreets, I pass shuttered storefronts and boarded windows that once belonged to places of business or cheap diners but have long since been abandoned. Ragged posters peeling off the walls proclaim old campaigns for order and prosperity, lies that never came to fruition. My muscles beg me to rest, but I push forward, prodded by the knowledge that in a city where alliances shift with the wind, stillness is as good as surrender.

Eventually, I reach a battered apartment building that Selene has earmarked as a fallback safehouse. The outside stairs sag under my weight, each step echoing my own uncertainty. Vines of graffiti snake up crumbling walls, and the door at the top groans with rusty hinges when I shoulder it open. I enter a cramped, dusty living space with furniture that must have seen better days decades ago. The air reeks of disuse, thick with the stale odor of old cigarettes and mildew.

Yet as I cross the threshold, relief flickers beneath my exhaustion. In a world of shifting loyalties, at least I know Selene is constant, someone who’s never sold me out for a fistful of credits or the promise of power. She’s too pragmatic for blind idealism and too compassionate for outright betrayal. I welcome whatever respite I can find in this battered haven.

But my thoughts keep drifting back to last night’s c*****e, replaying in jarring bursts of memory: muzzle flashes in the darkness, bullets shredding through flimsy cover, the holler of pain when someone took a hit, the savage jolt of recoil reverberating up my arms. In the midst of it, there was a moment of closeness, a stolen kiss, an embrace between equals teetering on the edge of desperation. It felt real, like a chance to remember what it meant to be human. Then the city’s cruelty barged in, riddling that fleeting intimacy with gunfire.

-

Selene arrives soon after I sink onto a threadbare couch, her footsteps hesitant as she surveys my tattered appearance. Her lips press into a thin line, concern etched into every feature. She gently lifts the edge of my jacket to reveal the fresh bandages that do little to conceal the dark bruises staining my skin.

“Aria,” she murmurs, voice thick with worry, “did you walk through a battlefield to get here? You look half-dead.”

A weak snort escapes me. “Might not be far from the truth. I’ve lost track of who’s gunning for me, Damien’s loyalists, freelance enforcers, or some brand-new pack of vultures. Honestly, it’s all one big blur.” My voice rasps with weariness, and I struggle to keep bitterness from overwhelming me.

Selene’s brow creases. “Let me handle that,” she says, guiding me to sit up straighter. She unravels the bandage at my shoulder, wincing at the shallow cuts hidden beneath. “You keep throwing yourself into the line of fire. It’s like you don’t trust anyone enough to have your back.”

“That’s because trusting people gets you killed,” I shoot back, though there’s less venom in my tone than usual. Exhaustion drains the fight from me. “If you haven’t noticed, trust in this city is a currency as dangerous as any bullet.”

She sighs, grabbing a rag and disinfectant from a battered first-aid kit. “You trust me, don’t you?”

-

The question hovers in the musty air, accompanied by the dull throb of my wounds. I think about how fragile trust feels after so many betrayals. Damien, my old allies—too many times, I’ve watched compacts fracture under the weight of ambition, greed, or terror. Yet Selene hasn’t turned on me. She’s patched up my wounds more times than I can count. She’s stood by me through heartbreak, revenge plots, and fleeting moments of hope.

I let out a measured breath. “I trust you enough to show you how messed up I am,” I admit, forcing a half-grin that vanishes as she applies disinfectant to a jagged scrape on my side. “But beyond that… I’m not sure I know how to trust anything anymore. The moment I think there’s a glimmer of safety, it’s gone, stolen by bullets or lies.”

Her touch softens, a warm pressure against my bandaged ribs. “Aria,” she says, voice low, “you don’t have to carry all of this alone. It’s killing you, piece by piece.”

A flash of last night’s kiss sears my memory, a reminder of passion overshadowed by gunfire. My voice trembles as I speak. “I almost believed in something more, for a second, anyway. I thought maybe I could have a true connection that wasn’t rooted in violence or manipulation. Then the door crashed in, and everything turned to blood and bullets, just like always.”

Selene’s gaze flickers with sympathy, and she sets a gentle hand on my arm. “That doesn’t mean it was a lie. Sometimes, the only honesty we find in this city is in those fleeting moments, no matter how quickly they’re torn away.”

I grimace, pain shooting across my bruised torso. Yet there’s a kernel of solace in her words, even if I can’t quite embrace it. I want to speak, to release the pent-up fear and longing knotted under my ribs, but my throat tightens with apprehension. Vengeance has been my one constant, and letting anything else matter feels like a betrayal of my own scars.

-

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, wincing at the protest from my battered flesh. Selene finishes with the disinfectant and starts winding fresh bandages around my torso, the pressure both comforting and agonizing. Despite my instincts screaming caution, I feel a flicker of gratitude, and an even more confusing spark of need.

She notices my ragged breathing, how my gaze drifts to her mouth. Her cheeks flush, and for a moment, the tension between us changes flavor, something raw and unexpected. Ever since Damien’s betrayal, I’ve used my body as a tool of manipulation or a barrier against loneliness, but this feels different. Less about control and more about the fragile seed of trust she’s offering me.

Her breath hitches as I trail trembling fingertips across her wrist. My voice is no more than a whisper: “I’m so tired of fighting alone.”

“Then don’t,” she whispers back, leaning closer. I catch the faint scent of soap and the underlying note of adrenaline still clinging to her. My battered heart thumps harder at the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to walk every path alone.

As our lips graze, a subdued hush falls over the shabby apartment. Our kiss is hesitant, each of us wary of crossing another line we can’t uncross. But despite the bruises, despite the bitter tastes of regret and anger, I feel an ember of warmth igniting in my chest—something painfully close to hope.

Then, as if on cue, the universe reminds me how fleeting moments of peace are.

A thunderous knock resounds through the battered door, making the cracked plaster tremble. Selene’s eyes fly open, and I pull away, heart hammering like I’m back in that hail of gunfire. Another pounding shakes the hinges, sharper this time, whoever it is, they’re not in a patient mood.

Selene and I share a look, the deep flicker of alarm sobering us instantly. My bruises protest as I haul myself upright, stumbling toward the table where my pistol lies. Every step sends pain rippling through my side, but fear and fury meld into a single potent force. I refuse to be caught off-guard again.

“Who is it?” Selene rasps, even though we both know no friend would arrive with such violence.

The doorframe groans under another blow, wood splintering slightly near the lock. I grip my gun, exhaling through my nose in a vain attempt to steady my pulse. There’s no chance of flight; we’re on the second floor with no easy escape route. Whatever waits beyond that door, we have no choice but to face it.

“This city never quits,” I mutter, forcing my battered body to remain upright. My heart clenches at the thought that whatever fragile bond Selene and I might have forged could be crushed in the next few seconds. Another savage blow lands on the door, and the lock threatens to give.

In that tense breath before everything shatters, I allow myself one last look at Selene, hoping she can see the apology in my eyes. For dragging her into my war, for bringing death to her doorstep once again, for daring to think we could share a moment of warmth in a world gone cold.

Then the door bursts open in an explosion of splinters and curses, and everything descends into chaos... again.