Darling, You’ll Bleed for Me

The Watchers

( Elena )

Morning came grey and soft, the kind of light that made the world look half-finished. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the streets slick and quiet. Elena woke to the sound of dripping from the window frame, the air still heavy with the scent of wet pavement.

She was tired, though she couldn’t quite explain why. Sleep had come in pieces fragments of sound and shadow. At one point, she thought she’d heard a car idling outside her building. When she’d gone to look, the street was empty, only puddles reflecting the pale glow of streetlights.

Now she moved through her small apartment, barefoot, tying her hair up as the kettle hissed on the stove. The day should have felt ordinary, the same as every other morning she’d opened the shop. But something lingered in the air a quiet unfamiliarity, like someone had rearranged the world while she slept.

She left for work earlier than usual, hoping the walk would clear her head. The city was still waking up; a few delivery trucks rumbled past, and the smell of bread drifted from the bakery on the corner. Her shoes left faint prints on the wet pavement.

When she reached the shop, she paused. The door was locked, just as she’d left it, but the small brass bell above it had been turned slightly the string twisted once around itself. She frowned. It could have been nothing. Maybe she’d done it herself last night without noticing. Still, her pulse quickened.

Inside, everything looked the same. The flowers she’d arranged still stood neatly on their shelves, the vases gleaming faintly in the muted light. But when she went to open the drawer under the counter — the one where she’d hidden the black card she found it sitting on top of the papers instead of tucked beneath them.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t moved it. She was sure.

She turned the card over in her hands. The silver crest caught the light a crown and two daggers. It looked colder now, sharper. Maybe someone had come in. Maybe she’d forgotten to lock the door properly after all.

She tried to shake it off, focusing on the routine. The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the air again, comforting, grounding. By the time the first customer arrived, she had almost convinced herself that nothing strange had happened. Almost.

Across town, Luciano sat in the back of a black car, the city sliding by in quiet motion. The morning light turned the windows into mirrors, his reflection staring back at him tired, composed, unreadable.

Mateo sat in the passenger seat, flipping through his phone until Luciano’s voice broke the silence.

“The flower shop,” Luciano said.

Mateo looked up. “The girl?”

Luciano didn’t answer immediately. He adjusted his cuff instead, the movement precise, almost distracted. “I want someone on her. Just eyes. Nothing more.”

Mateo hesitated. “You think she’s connected to the men from last night?”

“No.” The word came out too quickly, too certain. Luciano’s gaze shifted toward the window. The car passed through narrow streets, lined with markets and quiet corners. “She’s not part of that. But I want to know if anyone goes near her.”

Mateo studied him for a moment, something like curiosity flickering across his face, but he knew better than to question. “I’ll take care of it.”

Luciano nodded once, though he didn’t look at him again.

The city stretched wide outside, indifferent. He told himself it was only a precaution a matter of control, of tying off loose ends. He’d seen too many things go wrong because someone, somewhere, had been careless. This wasn’t about her. It was about keeping order. That was what he told himself.

But as the car turned down the main road, he caught his own reflection in the window again, and for a fleeting moment, he saw something in his eyes he didn’t recognize — not calculation, not caution. Something softer. Something that looked too close to want.

He turned away from it.

Elena spent the rest of the day pretending not to notice the unease threading through her thoughts. Each time the doorbell chimed, her shoulders tensed. Each time someone lingered too long outside, she glanced up. The card remained in her drawer, untouched, yet somehow heavier than before.

By closing time, the sky had darkened again. She locked the door carefully, checked it twice. As she stepped out onto the street, she thought she heard footsteps behind her, faint but steady, keeping pace until she turned the corner.

No one was there.

Still, she quickened her steps.

And somewhere down the block, inside a parked car, a man watched her disappear into the rain-soaked distance, reporting quietly into a phone

“She’s leaving now.”