SHIDDAT ~ Where Love Burns With The Flames of Passion

Darkling and Dark Shadow

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Author's pov:

Ring ring... ring ring.

A phone on the table kept ringing, its sound filling the quiet room.

Footsteps echoed softly, growing closer as someone approached to answer the call.

The person reached for the phone, their fingers hovering for a brief moment before finally answering the call.

"Hello," the person answered, their voice calm and steady.

"Hello. It's been a long time since we last met. Hope you remember that we've decided to meet today," came the voice from the other side of the call.

"I remember," the person replied without hesitation.

"And what time will you be arriving?" the voice on the other end inquired, their tone cold and calculating.

The person paused for a moment and replied, "I'll be there in an hour."

"Good. Don't be late, there's someone who is waiting for you here," the voice  said before the line went dead.

The person lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen as the line went dead.

The silence in the room seemed to press around the person.

The room was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the walls as the person moved with practiced precision.

Wardrobe doors creaked slightly as a hand reached inside.

A black leather jacket hung neatly on a hanger, its sleek surface catching the faint light.

It was pulled off and slipped on, settling against the shoulders like armor, its scent of worn leather filling the air.

The jacket was more than just clothing—it was armor, a shield for what lay ahead.

It had seen countless nights like this, and tonight would be no different.

Next, the person bent down and reached beneath the bed, fingers searching for something hidden in the shadows.

A sleek, black case was pulled out and snapped open.

Inside, a handgun rested in its compartment, cold and metallic.

The person's hand hovered over it for a brief moment before picking it up, the weight familiar, almost comforting.

After a brief check of the cartridge—full, just as it should be—the gun was slid into beneath the jacket by the person, the gun concealed but ready.

A glance in the mirror revealed a face with an expression blank, eyes dark and unreadable.

The reflection showed a figure with a void that seemed to swallow any trace of emotion.

Black boots, heavy and deliberate, were the final piece of the outfit.

The person wore the boots. They thudded on the floor as the door was approached.

As the door handle was reached for, the person paused for a moment.

Fingers tightened around the metal, and a thoughtful expression settled on their face.

Tonight, it would all begin again.

With a final, pensive glance, the door was pushed open, and the person stepped out into the night and approached a sleek black coloured bike that was kept hidden in the penthouse of the house.