Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 5

I don't reel backward or fight the stranger with molten eyes as his grip tightens, twists around to face me completely. Just stare at him, assessing his strengths and weaknesses, madly pulling together a plot regarding how I'm getting out of here in one piece. "Obviously," I say with an edge of fabricated humor.

Young, maybe a year or two older than myself, but the man is a foot taller than me. His inky black hair glistens in the moonlight, almost curling. Even in the shadows, his face is tanned by the summer sun, complimenting his hair nicely. And though he wears a black sweatshirt and loose-fitting jeans, his jaw is sculpted out of rock and his hand on my wrist is solid iron.

So strength will not be a weakness when I make my move, then.

The stranger watches me too, and something about the way he eyes my generic and dirty dress bothers me. He looks to my shoes, which are equally disappointing, and then the gold travels up to my face, soaked in pity.

His hand releases my wrist, and it drops limply to my side. Confusion surges through me, and then some as he reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out a crisp hundred dollar bill.

"Take it," he says, nodding to his own money.

I merely stare at the bill, half-obscured in the scope of nearby lamplights and the brilliant city two miles south. Against the indigo sky, the buildings shine brightly even in my periphery, each of their windows like a star. The actual stars' reflections shimmer on the East River, to the left.

As daunting as that skyline often seems, it's no safer here, on the sidewalk outside of the brick bar. The buildings certainly aren't as menacing, small and fracturing and spray-painted, but bad things happen here too. I remind myself of that as I look up from the bill.

The man in the hooded sweatshirt bleeds back into existence, his hand nudging the bill into mine.

"Why."

He shakes his head. "You need it more than I do."

Though pickpocketing is hardly better than accepting money from strangers, my hand takes a long while to curl around the bill. It reminds me of the weight I carry in my purse, every one of those credit cards frozen by this hour.

"Thank you," I say, biting my tongue to avoid a witticism. Why does this man give me his own money when he has every right to call the police on me?

At least Mom would've gotten her wish to pick me up at a closer precinct, I think darkly.

He starts walking in the opposite direction of my apartment, but faltering, the man turns back around to face me. "My name's Cal," he says by way of formal introduction outside this gross little bar. "Let me walk you home—it's not safe to be out here so late at night."

Cal. He walks to me, stopping at a respectable distance.

"Mare Barrow," I reply, though I should know better than to give Cal—the man I just attempted to steal from—a last name. He holds out his hand to shake mine, but I cross my arms. "Somebody with the likes of your wallet shouldn't be out here so late, either. You may look scary in that hoodie of yours, but the men in that bar are ten times worse, I promise."

Cal drops his hand, neatly tucking it behind his back with the other. He steals a look at the bar, the windows as dirty as they were five minutes ago. "I can take care of myself. Yet you were going to go in there?"

Shrugging, I start into a walk down the cracking street, not waiting to see if he'll follow me. "I've learned the tricks of the trade over the years. Besides, most of them are too drunk to stand, let alone assault me."