Chasing Shadows

Chapter Forty two: Zane pov-Shadow's Solace

Zane stood on the rooftop opposite the crumbling building, hidden in the shadows as he watched the scene unfold. The night air was thick with dust and the bitter scent of smoke, but his gaze was locked on one figure in particular-Ethan, whose eyes were wide with fear and worry as he stared into the rubble.

Zane's heart twisted painfully as he watched Ethan's frantic expression. He had seen that look only a handful of times before: when someone's life hung in the balance, teetering on the edge of life and death. He knew it too well-Ethan was afraid. Not for himself, but for him.

A fierce urge to jump down and reassure Ethan swept over him, but Zane shook it off, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. He couldn't do that anymore. His place wasn't beside Ethan-not anymore. He had made his choice, drawn his own line in the sand.

But still, seeing Ethan like this... it hurt.

A part of him wished he hadn't intervened. Maybe if he'd let Asher fall a little further, Ethan would've hated him for it-blamed him. Maybe that would've made things easier. But no matter how much he tried to be this cold, indifferent figure of darkness, Zane couldn't bring himself to truly hurt Ethan. Not in a way that counted.

That's why he'd used his shadows to shield Asher at the last second, diverting the falling debris just enough to keep Ethan's partner safe. He'd told himself it was to ensure his own safety-to prevent the city's golden hero from turning all his rage onto him. But that was a lie. The truth was much simpler: he couldn't stand seeing Ethan lose anyone else.

So, he watched as Asher climbed out of the rubble, dusty and bruised but very much alive. He watched as Ethan's tense shoulders sagged with relief, a shaky smile breaking through his fear. He stayed there, lingering in the shadows as the two exchanged words, their voices too faint to catch from this distance.

Zane waited until they started to leave, his own chest tightening with every step Ethan took further away. Only then did he let himself dissolve into the shadows, melting away from the scene like a ghost.

But he couldn't go far. He never could.

---

Ethan's small apartment was dimly lit when Zane finally slipped inside, his presence barely a ripple in the air as he materialized in the corner of the living room. It was late-far past midnight-but he knew Ethan would be awake.

He found him sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle of beer dangling precariously from his fingers. A half-finished bottle of whiskey stood on the table beside him, glistening in the low light. Zane's lips tightened. Ethan had never been able to handle alcohol. He got flushed and giggly after just one drink, and after two... well, this was the result.

Zane moved silently, taking the bottle from Ethan's lax grip and setting it on the table. He watched for a moment, waiting to see if Ethan would stir. But there was no response. Just a soft, contented murmur as he shifted, his head lolling back against the couch cushions.

"Zane..." Ethan mumbled, the name a sleepy, half-drunken slur that sent a pang of guilt straight through Zane's chest. "Where... where are you..."

Zane swallowed hard. This was why he kept coming back, night after night. Because when Ethan was like this-drunk and hazy, lost in a fog of alcohol-he acted like things were normal again. Like Zane hadn't betrayed him. Like they were still friends.

"Right here," Zane murmured softly, stepping closer. He knelt beside the couch, his dark eyes scanning Ethan's flushed face, the way his lips were parted slightly as if he were on the verge of saying more.

Ethan blinked blearily, his gaze unfocused as he peered at Zane. "You... came back?" There was a note of wonder in his voice, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "You're really here?"