CTRL

VII

ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʀʟᴇᴀɴꜱ
ᴀᴘʀɪʟ 2018
Beyoncé POV

The night wrapped around me like a cloak, dark and suffocating. I moved silently through the deserted streets, each step deliberate, precise. The moon hid behind thick clouds, casting shadows that stretched and twisted, but I didn't mind the darkness. It was comforting, familiar—like an old friend. I could feel the tension in the air, a strange, electric charge that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Something was changing, shifting, and I was at the center of it, guiding it, making sure everything went according to plan.

Onika was slipping, and that was a problem. I had been so careful, watching over her, keeping her close, nudging her away from the edges of the truth whenever she got too curious. But lately, she had been seeing things, remembering fragments of a past I had buried deep. She thought they were hallucinations, side effects of her pills. She didn't realize they were memories, echoes of something real, something dangerous. If she kept digging, she was going to uncover things she wasn't ready to face.

I couldn't let that happen.

I found her where I knew she would be—alone, standing under the streetlight at the end of the block, her shoulders hunched, her eyes darting around like she was expecting something to jump out of the shadows. She looked small, fragile, and for a moment, I almost felt a pang of pity. But that feeling passed quickly. There was no room for sympathy here. Only control.

"Onika," I called out, my voice smooth, carrying easily through the still night air.

She turned, startled, and I saw a flash of something in her eyes—fear, confusion, maybe even hope. She was holding her phone tightly in her hand, like it was a lifeline, but when she saw me, she relaxed slightly. I had that effect on people. I could make them feel safe, even when they were anything but.

"Beyoncé," she said, her voice shaky. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you," I replied, stepping closer. "You left so suddenly this afternoon. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, but her eyes betrayed her. She was anything but fine. I could see it in the way her hands trembled, the way she kept glancing over her shoulder. "I just... I needed some air."

I reached out, gently placing a hand on her arm. She flinched at the touch but didn't pull away. "Onika, talk to me. You know you can trust me, right?"

For a moment, I thought she was going to tell me everything—the flashes she had been seeing, the strange phone call she received, the note she found under her door. But then she shook her head, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's nothing. Just a rough day."

I smiled back, soft and understanding. "We all have those. But if something's bothering you, I want to help." I let my voice drop, softer, almost a whisper. "You've been seeing things again, haven't you?"

Her eyes widened, and I saw the panic flare up. "How did you—"

"I know you, Onika," I said, cutting her off gently. "I've seen you struggling, and I just want to make it easier for you. Those pills your dad gave you, they can't fix everything. But I can."

She pulled back, shaking her head. "No, you don't understand. It's not just the hallucinations. It feels real. Like something's trying to tell me something, and I don't know what to do."

My heart quickened, but I kept my expression calm, sympathetic. "Maybe you're just more sensitive than others. This city, it has a way of bringing things to the surface—things that most people aren't equipped to handle. But you don't have to be afraid of it, Onika. You don't have to be afraid of me."