One Night
797 Words
Nyra’s POV
The cab dumped me at a club worlds away from the sterile order of Vanguard.
Bass throbbed through the walls. Every door swing flashed neon lights and spilled laughter from civilians blissfully free of hanging missions or glitchy implants that could flatline on a whim.
I hesitated.
This was wrong. I should be in my dorm, packing for off-grid exile. Resting, as ordered.
But I’d crossed that line the second I hailed the cab.
So I stepped inside.
Heat hit like a wall—stale sweat, spilled liquor, pounding rhythm. I hugged the bar, head down, blending in.
The bartender eyed me. “What’ll it be?”
“Something strong.”
Minutes later, a glass slid my way.
I slammed the first shot. Fire scorched my throat—harsh, unfamiliar—but I chased it with another.
*Doesn’t matter,* I told myself. *If they want to warehouse me off-grid, treat me like broken goods, I deserve one night. No missions. No systems. No Director Hayes’ disappointed stare.*
One night as Nyra. Not Unit Zero property.
Time smeared. Bodies surged around me—cheers, jeers, faces blurring in and out.
Eventually, the bar emptied. Music droned on, but the energy thinned. Late hour. Last stragglers.
That’s when I noticed him.
A guy, three stools down. Not there before—or maybe I’d been too numb to care.
Now, though? He stared. Hard. Not glancing. *Locking on.*
Instinct knotted my gut.
I straightened, meeting his gaze. *What’s your problem?*
Alcohol buzzed in my veins, but I slid off my stool. Approached.
He didn’t flinch.
That pissed me off more.
“What?” I snapped.
His lips twitched, amused.
“Something on my face?” I pressed.
He leaned back, relaxed. “No. Just… didn’t expect someone like you here.”
“Someone like me?”
His eyes raked me—cool, assessing. “You don’t scream ‘club girl.’”
I scoffed. “I belong wherever I want.”
He nodded, conceding. “You seem pissed.”
“I’m not pissed,” I lied.
His look called bullshit.
I crossed my arms. “Why the stare?”
Shrug. “Maybe I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Maybe you’re just… interesting.”
I blinked. Not the comeback I expected.
I should’ve walked.
Instead: “I’m not interesting.”
Slight smile. “Disagree.”
Booze made me bold. “I could put you on your ass in seconds.”
Eyebrows up. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m a hell of a fighter.”
He laughed—quiet, real. Surprised.
It ignited me. “Stop laughing.”
“Sorry.” Still grinning. “You’re bold.”
“I’m *trained,*” I snapped.
His gaze sharpened. “Trained?”
“Yeah. Not some kid.”
Smile widened. “Didn’t say you were.”
“You thought it.”
“Didn’t.”
I stepped closer, sizing him up. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet…” He tilted his head. “Here you are.”
Frozen. He was right.
Walking away felt like losing. I *never* lose.
“Not here for you,” I hissed.
“Then why? Drowning sorrows?”
“No. Not drunk.”
He scanned the thinning bar. “Sure.”
“I’m here for fun.”
Head tilt. “Having it?”
Mouth opened. Paused. “…Was.”
“Until?”
I met his eyes. “You started staring.”
Chuckled. “My bad.”
“Fix it.”
His gaze held mine, searching. Then he leaned in. “That what you want?”
Breath hitched. No quick answer.
He closed the gap. Lips met mine.
Brain blanked. I froze a beat.
Then kissed back—clumsy, new—but he didn’t pull away. His hand steadied my waist.
Eyes roamed my face as he drew back. “That was…”
Heart plummeted.
“First time?” Soft, no judgment.
Cheeks burned. I knew I should have llied.
“…Yeah.”
His expression shifted—not mocking. Softer.
Leaned close, voice low. “I could show you more. If you want.”
Pulse thundered. “Show me?”
Nod toward the back hall. “Private room here.”
Every trained instinct screamed *danger*.
But I’d already bolted from the academy. Reckless was the night’s theme.
“Okay.”
He stood, hand out. I took it.
Led me down the dim hall, away from the pulse, into a shadowed room cut off from reality.
Door shut.
One kiss ignited more. The night dissolved into heat, discovery, choices that felt right in the haze—missions forgotten, systems silent, thoughts erased.
Later, silence settled. He slept beside me, breaths steady.
I stared at the ceiling, reality creeping back like ice.
Then my phone buzzed.
Screen glowed.
Director Malric.
- Writer
