Devils Star | h.s

Chapter 37

This morning was calmer than I expected. Almost suspiciously so.

Harry stood in the kitchen, lazily munching on a bagel as though last night's conversation with his mom hadn't left him tangled in knots.
"She was... sincere," he said, the word hanging between us like he was still testing its weight.

But sincerity didn't come easy to his mother.
I caught the flicker in his eyes—the slight furrow of his brow he didn't think I'd notice. He wanted to believe her. Maybe he even needed to. But deep down, the doubt clung to him, like it always did when she was involved.

I didn't press him. Not yet. There's a time for cross-examinations, and it wasn't over breakfast.

Instead, I snatched his bagel right from his hand, took a quick bite, and smirked as I bolted for the door. His stunned silence followed me down the hall like the perfect victory lap.

The streets of New York greeted me with their usual orchestra: honking taxis, the steady thrum of footsteps, the murmur of lives in motion. I usually liked the walk to work. It was one of the few times I could clear my head, stitch my thoughts together before the chaos of the day unraveled them.

But this morning, I missed the comforting shell of my car.
I missed the clean separation it offered—windows up, music loud, the city held at arm's length.

Because some people, some ghosts, are easier to avoid when you have a barrier.

As I approached my office building, the rhythm of my steps faltered. My breath caught mid-draw.

There he was.

Liam.

Draped in his usual armor of black—black jacket, black jeans, thick boots that looked like they'd stomped over more than just pavement. His hair was messier than I remembered, his face sharper somehow, leaner. But it was him.

And he looked just as startled to see me.

Only... his shock wasn't the kind that freezes you because you're caught off guard.
His was the sharp, guilty kind—the I-wasn't-supposed-to-be-seen kind.

And I? I was the last person he wanted to be seen by.

For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other, the noise of the street falling away like I'd stepped into some vacuum where only the two of us existed. Old memories flickered behind his eyes—things we never said, things I should have questioned.

I'd been told Liam couldn't be trusted.
Today, he looked like living proof.

Before I could form a single word—or even begin to shake off the shock—Liam spun on his heel and bolted, disappearing into the flow of the street.

His reaction was instant, almost rehearsed, like he'd been ready to run the moment our eyes met.

I stood frozen, my pulse thudding in my ears as I watched him weave through the crowd, the sea of people swallowing him whole before I could will my legs to move.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Natasha's voice chimed in from beside me, making me flinch. She arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Seriously, you're paler than my designer bedspread. And that thing's practically snow."

If only she knew.

A low, sinking feeling settled in my stomach.

"I just saw someone," I managed, still trying to steady my breathing.

Her curiosity snapped into place immediately. "Who?"

"Liam," I said quietly, like the name itself might summon him back. "He was right outside the building. I don't know why he was here."