DARK

CHAPTER 3: USE HER

I woke up and my head was full of noise. Not real noise. The kind of noise that’s inside your skull, constant, pressing, whispering. The alley. The man on the ground. The black coat. The calm eyes. That calm… the way nothing seemed to touch him.

I wanted to forget. I should have. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t make my limbs move right, couldn’t make my chest stop tightening. My apartment felt smaller than usual. Walls closer. Ceiling lower. Shadows heavier.

Coffee. That’s all I needed. I made it too strong. Burned my tongue. Didn’t care. It was fuel. Something to keep me moving. Keep me outside the apartment. Keep me alive.

I walked. Streets were still empty. Not early-morning empty, more like the city hadn’t woken yet but it was about to. Every step felt like it made a sound. I kept checking reflections. Windows, puddles, car hoods. Nothing moved behind me. Nothing that could see me.

The thought hit me sharp: he’s still out there. Waiting.

I shivered. Not the normal kind. Cold in my bones. Deep. Like the kind that doesn’t leave when you get inside.

At the café, the morning rush hadn’t started. I moved through it mechanically. People’s voices. Machines clanging. Cups clinking. It all felt distant. My hands steady, my mind not.

Then I saw him.

Cassian Moretti. Dark, tall, impossible. Sitting in the back. Black slacks. Button-down sleeves rolled up. Fingers tapping the table. Not fast. Not nervous. Just… deliberate. Calculated. Watching. Always watching.

I stopped breathing without meaning to. Tray halfway to the counter. Something in me wanted to throw it at him, wanted to shout, wanted to scream. I didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet. Not here.

“You’re early,” he said. His voice low. Controlled. Cold. Dangerous.

“I work,” I muttered. Like that explained it. Like that made me human.

He leaned slightly, like the air itself was bending toward him. “Good. That’s… useful.”

I clenched my jaw. Useful. Tool. Pawn. That word. His word. It sat heavy in my chest.

“You think that makes me scared?” I spat, more words than I meant.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just that gaze. Sharp. Constant. Assessing. Judging.

“You’ll be careful,” he said finally. Quiet. Almost a statement, not a threat.

“You mean you’ll be careful?” I said. Voice too loud again. I felt my face heat.

He let it go. Just looked. That’s what scared me most. That he didn’t react. Didn’t need to. Didn’t have to. Just looked.

I kept my hands folded in front of me, gripping the tray, pretending the coffee and plates were heavier than my thoughts.

I wanted him to hurt. Not me. Not yet. Not that day. But someone. Someone for what he made me feel. Someone who deserved it.

I realized then, quietly, that I would play the game. I would. I didn’t know how. Didn’t know when. Didn’t know the price. But I would.

The café got busy. Orders stacked. People talking. Noise. I kept my head down. Worked faster than I usually did. Didn’t look at him. Tried not to let my eyes betray me. Tried not to plan how I could get close enough to him without… what? Hurting him? No. Not yet. Watching. Learning. That’s all.

I stole glances. One. Two. Three. Not enough for him to notice. I hoped. He did notice, anyway. I could feel it. That quiet awareness that made your skin crawl.

It was worse than fear. Being watched by someone who could ruin you, and not giving a hint that he would. Not yet.

By mid-morning, my brain had started running calculations. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Routes he takes. Times he comes. Where his eyes go. How his fingers move. Subtle things. Small patterns. Small openings.

I hated myself for noticing.

Lunch hour. He didn’t leave. Coffee black. Hand on the cup. Fingertips tapping once, twice, not more. The kind of control that doesn’t feel like control—it feels like gravity itself is obeying him.

I moved closer to the counter. Pretended to clean. Couldn’t. My hands shook a little. Not from fear. From… anger, maybe. That thing I hated myself for.

“What do you want?” I muttered under my breath.

His gaze flicked up, just a second. That sharpness. Enough to make me swallow. “I want you alive.”

I froze. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right. Alive. Like I wasn’t already trying. Like surviving wasn’t instinct.

Then he leaned back, quiet again. Dangerous calm. I could feel it pressing down.

I remembered the alley again. That man on his knees. The noise. The way Cassian had looked at me after. That calm. That quiet. That certainty.

I hated him. I hated myself for noticing. I hated him for making me notice.

Some part of me started thinking—if he’s watching me, then I can watch him. I can learn. I can wait. I can… use him. Not like him. Not yet. Not the way he uses people. But I can. I should. I will.

Orders came in. I moved through them mechanically. My mind elsewhere. Counting steps, glances, positions. Planning without even meaning to.

The afternoon dragged. I was too aware of him. Too aware of everyone else. Too aware of the way I could move, or not move.

Then the door chimed.

Not him. Someone else.

I froze. Heart jumped. Didn’t recognize them. Didn’t belong. Not here. Not in this quiet war of glances and small movements that was my life now.

Cassian’s head turned. Slowly. Methodically. His hand twitched. That subtle shift that made me want to curl inside myself.

The stranger moved closer. Smiling. Not friendly. Just… knowing.

Cassian didn’t react. Calm. Too calm. Deadly calm.

Something in me tightened. Fear, anger, something worse.

The stranger’s gaze landed on me for a fraction of a second. Smiled again. Like they were testing something.

Cassian spoke, low, precise. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The stranger tilted their head. “Neither should you.”

I tried to disappear into the noise. Tried to shrink.

The cafe felt smaller. Walls pressing in. Air tighter.

And I realized then—my quiet life was gone.

I wasn’t just a bystander anymore.

I wasn’t just surviving.

Something was coming. And I didn’t know if I’d be ready.

Cassian’s eyes were sharp on both of us. Waiting. Calculating.

And then he moved.