The Girl Who Could See Death

The Price of a Vision

Elara

The cold metallic click of a safety being disengaged didn’t move Reid. He sat calmly, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, his thumb tracing my pulse point as if we were sitting in a quiet garden rather than staring down the barrel of a gun. The contrast was terrifying; the man outside brought death, but the man inside looked like he owned it.

“Now isn't a good time, Anthony,” Reid said, his voice dropping to a glacial temperature. He wasn’t talking to me. He was addressing the gunman.

“Every time is a good time to settle a debt, Thorne,” the scarred man spat. “Move right now, or the girl’s blood decorates your nice leather first.”

My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked at Reid, pleading with my eyes for him to do something, but Reid wasn’t looking at the gun. He was looking at me.

“Elara,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine with a terrifying, clinical intensity. “Touch him.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “What?”

“The man with the gun touch his hand. Tell me how he ends.”

“Are you insane?” I hissed, my voice trembling. “He’s going to kill us!”

“He won’t,” Reid said with a chilling certainty. “You know why? Because you’re going to tell me exactly which way he’s going to step when my security team opens fire from the roof of the adjacent building. You’re going to tell me if he dies today, or if I have to make it happen myself.”

The gunman’s eyes widened. He began to pivot, sensing the trap, but he was too slow.

“Touch him!” Reid commanded his voice left no room for refusal.

He lunged forward, dragging me with him toward the open door. It was a blur of motion. The gunman reached out to shove Reid back, and in the chaos, his bare skin brushed against my palm.

The world turned.

I didn't see a hospital. I didn't see a quiet passing. I saw a flash of silver, a blade, slicing through a throat in a dark alleyway. I saw the symbol of a snake eating its own tail tattooed on the killer’s wrist. And then, I saw the gunman falling backward, his chest exploding in a spray of red as a sniper’s bullet found its mark.

“Down!” I screamed.

I tackled Reid toward the floor of the car just as the window above us shattered into a million diamond-like shards.

Two silenced shots rang out. The gunman didn't even have time to scream. He slumped against the doorframe, his life light extinguishing exactly as the vision had predicted.

Reid was pinned beneath me on the floor of the car. For a moment, neither of us moved. I could feel the hard muscle of his chest, below me. His hands came up, not to push me off, but to grip my waist, anchoring me to him.

“You saved me,” he murmured. The predatory hunger in his eyes had evolved into something else: a burning, possessive fixation.

“I saved myself,” I choked out, trying to scramble back, but his grip was too tight.

“No, Elara. You just proved you’re the most valuable asset I’ve ever acquired.” He sat up, bringing me with him, his face inches from mine. “Those men? They work for the Vanes. They won’t stop. Your little bookstore is gone, and your old life is a corpse on the pavement.”

“You can’t keep me,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over.

“I can, and I will, but I’m a businessman, Elara. I don’t like messy kidnappings. I prefer contracts.”

He reached into the pocket of the seat and pulled out a sleek, black tablet. With a few swipes, a document appeared.

TERMINATION PROTECTION AGREEMENT

“I provide you with 24-hour security, a suite in my penthouse, and the full resources of the Thorne empire to find out what happened to your parents,” he said, his voice a hypnotic lure. “In exchange, you are mine. You touch whom I tell you to touch. You see what I need you to see. You become my eyes in the dark.”

“What if I’m not okay with that?”

Reid looked out at the body of the gunman being dragged away by his silent suits. “Then you walk out of this car alone. And the Vanes will find you before you reach the end of the block. They won't be as polite as I am.”

I looked at the screen, then at his hand; the hand that, in one vision, held me while I died, and in another, led me toward a sun-drenched future.

My finger trembled over the digital signature line.

“There’s one more thing,” I said, my voice gaining a sudden, sharp edge. “The vision, the one where I die in your arms.”

Reid’s eyes narrowed. “What about it?”

“In that vision, you weren't trying to save me, Reid. You were crying, but you were also holding a flash drive. Even then, when I was dying, you were holding onto your secrets.”

I signed the paper, I felt I had no choice, and I was curious about my parents’ deaths.

“If I’m going to be your weapon,” I whispered, leaning in until our foreheads touched, “I want to know what’s on that drive. I think the reason I die is you.”

Reid’s smile didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a man who had just trapped a bird in a cage of gold.

“Then we'd better start working, Elara. We have exactly six months before the date of your death.”

He tapped a button on the intercom. “Take us to the Penthouse. And call the cleaners. We have a guest.”

As the car pulled away, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an unknown number. A single text message appeared:

‘The bird is in the cage. Proceed to Phase Two. — V.’

I looked at Reid, who was already back on his phone, oblivious. I wasn't just his secret weapon. I was a ticking time bomb, and I didn't know which side was going to set me off first.