welcome to new york // luke a.u

Prologue

Strength.

As said by the stereotypical Hallmark greeting card, you will never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.

See, there's two kinds of people in this world.

There's the people who purposefully throw themselves into trouble and enjoy it, and then there's people who are thrown into it despite their pleas. I'm a logical person- having a plan has always been a part of the checklist.

So as I'm tied up to a chair at gunpoint in the abandoned parking garage of a corporation that sells God knows what, you can imagine my consistent prayers to whoever will listen are probably going to sound a little more harsh than the typical "I told you so."

"Oh, Talia-"

"It's Taissa," I mutter and immediately regret it. I expect the handle of a gun to come in contact with my cheek or even a subtle bullet wound to my foot, but the only thing that happens is a growl and a face to face encounter with what felt like the devil himself.

"Talia, Tessa, Taissa, I don't give a shit as to who you are," he growls, "what I do give a shit about is what you know." He twirls his gun by the trigger and for a second I wanted nothing but death to embrace me in its adoring arms. However, I knew I wasn't getting out of this one that easily. "So," a dry chuckle escaped his small smirk, "you should probably start talking."

"Who are you to tell me what to say?" Internally, I beat myself down and wonder where my sudden combination of confidence and idiocy stemmed from. Now was probably not the safest time to sass someone, especially if that someone is a part of a gang known for the fact that everyone involved with it was on first name basis with the Grimm Reaper himself.

"Uh, in case you haven't noticed, I get to decide whether or not you live. I could just use my finger as a scalpel and scrape out that pretty, little eye of yours-"

A high pitched ring emerged from his jean pocket, and I almost sighed if it wasn't for the fact that I was still tied up and walking on the tight-rope that is potential death. His face dropped into a frown, and he turned away from me. Curling his fingers around the base of his iPhone, I looked around to see what I could do to escape his rope's grip. In realization that I was literally trapped here, I gave up. After attentively listening to his shuffling and general inability to remain still, his fist balled up, and a foot stomped in aggravation.

"Look, I'm busy right now, can't it wait?" Groaning, he whispered something inaudible and hung up finally facing me.

"I'm not finished with you, so don't think this is goodbye, sweetheart. This isn't over." His footsteps echoed as he bolted across the parking spaces, and a heatwave of frustration, anxiety, and fear washed over me. I thought about the whole reason I was even in this position in the first place which resulted in a sigh. Well, I guess that's what I get for thinking the first time I decide to wing something that I would make it out completely unbruised. Was this really a proper greeting to the city of my dreams? The very land that held my quote unquote, "future" in journalism? Throwing my head back, all I could think about was how unexpected this was.

Welcome to New York.