nightfall || minsung

Chapter 9

I hurtled down the highway until the lights of Port Angeles appeared on the horizon. I drove down to the bay, took a sharp turn, saw the warehouses I remembered from Felix's vision. I flew down a back alley, trying to reach a mind to read and find a familiar street at the same time.

This kid won't put up much of a fight, I heard someone think. What is he? Eighteen? This won't take long.

I stopped at another alley. It looked right, but — shit — all the streets looked the same. I tuned back in to the man's brain and saw my Minho, shoved up against a chainlink fence, held there.

It was happening now.

I growled, raced down the street, hoping with everything I had that my intuition was right.

"Please stop," Minho's voice leaked into my head, "please, please stop—"

"Shut it," a man — there was more than one — yelled back. "Where's your wallet?"

"M-my pocket — jacket pocket."

I hadn't made a mistake. At the end of the alley, four men were huddled around Minho, hidden in the shadows until my headlights touched them.

They noticed the light, the hum of the engine. They grabbed Minho's money and took off around a corner.

I hit the brake at the mouth of the alley, staring at the men's backs as they fled. It would take so little to kill them. My mind filled with the sound of fingers cracking, skin splitting and peeling off...

But my ears caught a sound from ahead. Minho began to cry as he sank to the pavement.

All thoughts of violence left my mind at once.

I sped forward, stopped just as fast, and leapt out of the car. I dropped down in front of him and checked his vitals. His pulse was irregular, breathing too fast, temperature too cold. Blood leaked beneath the skin on both his wrists, contusions but — thank God — no lacerations.

He was looking up at me, squinting against the headlights, tears still falling down his cheeks.

"Minho," I said, meeting his eyes, "are you — are you all right?"

He leaned forward and hugged me.

My teeth clenched tight, locking out the perfect smell of his blood. I put my arms around him, patting reluctantly. He was shaking, hands fisted hard on my back, cheek against my shoulder. I listened to his heartbeat slowly subside.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "What do you need?"

"I-I don't k-know." His voice was cracking, sucking back into his throat. He coughed quietly. "I feel sc-scared."

I wanted to tell him he shouldn't be afraid, that there was no need, but that wasn't true as long as I was near him.

"They're gone," I said instead. "They will never touch you again, I swear."

"They took m-my goddamn money."

"That doesn't matter, Minho."

He sighed — a little breath through trembling lips. "I guess."

He pulled back and crawled away. I took the opportunity to breathe. It was a relief — I had been running out of air.

He picked up something soggy, something else that looked like glass, and shoved them into his pockets, along with his empty wallet.

I got up and hovered next to him. When he tried to stand, I took his arm, supporting him. I helped him into the car, and I got in the driver side, pivoting up the alley.