Chapter 10 #7
“Sometimes,” he replied, eyes fixed on the tunnel walls racing by. “Sometimes I think about what it would be like to just keep running, see how far you get before the tracks end.”
I considered that. “You think there’s an end to the tracks?” I was only half-joking.
He met my gaze, his look half amusement, half challenge. “There’s always an end. The question is whether you’re the one driving, or if you’re just cargo.”
I rolled my eyes, but it was a good line. I let the silence stretch, the only sound the rumble of wheels and the periodic bark of the conductor’s announcements.
The train screeched into the station, its doors flinging open. As we disembarked at our station, Aiden stayed close behind me. He moved with an effortless grace, not fading into the background but rather embodying it, a sleek predator attuned to the city’s pulse.
We started our ascent from the station, climbing the ribbed concrete stairs into the city.
Aiden walked beside me as if we were on a joint operation, his body angled just slightly in front, every so often glancing back to ensure I hadn’t peeled off or dissolved into the night.
At the top of the stairs, he slipped a crumpled bill into a beggar’s outstretched palm.
We spilled onto the street when I heard it, a sharp cry bouncing off the tile and up the stairwell.
Aiden and I exchanged a look. Without a word, we moved in sync, cutting around the corner toward the sound.
Outside the station entrance, a young woman was cornered against the fence by two men. One had her by the wrist, the other rifling through her bag. The bystander effect was in full force; the few people at this time glanced and hurried on.
I froze for a heartbeat, some primal warning siren going off in my head. I wanted to help, but the moment felt glassy and unreal. Aiden didn’t hesitate.
He strode forward, voice calm and low. “Let her go.”
The bigger of the two men, with a shaved head and a neck tattoo curling up his jaw, turned, sizing up Aiden. He bared his teeth. “Mind your own business, asshole.”
Aiden smiled, but it was the kind of smile you see right before someone gets pushed in front of a train. “She’s not your business. Let her go.”
Neck Tattoo looked past Aiden, checking for backup, then shrugged. “Your funeral.” He swung, fast and mean.
Aiden caught the punch mid-air, then bent the guy’s wrist backward until it popped. The man screamed and crumpled to his knees.
The second guy tried to run. Aiden tripped him without looking, a lazy sweep of his foot, and the man skidded across the pavement.
The woman pressed herself against the fence, eyes huge.
“Are you okay?” I heard myself ask her.
She nodded, tears streaking her face, and shoved her phone into her pocket. “Thank you. Thank you.” She bolted down the block, lost in the night within seconds.
Aiden let go of Neck Tattoo, who rolled onto the sidewalk, clutching his wrist and swearing, before running away.
I stepped over to Aiden, who was breathing hard but otherwise looked like he’d just taken out the trash. “That was…” I started.
He shook his head. “Don’t. Not here.” He took my hand and pulled me away, ducking into a nearby alley.
We leaned against the brick, hearts racing. “Jesus,” I said, my hands shaking.
Aiden just stared at the opposite wall, jaw tight. “People like that,” he muttered, “they don’t stop until someone makes them.”
I watched him, saw the way his fists unclenched, the veins standing out on the back of his hand. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
He looked at me, and for a moment I thought I saw something animal in his gaze, a flicker of gold, the echo of a snarl still playing on his lips. “Yes, I did.”
A quiet passed between us, heavy and full of questions I wasn’t sure how to ask. “You ever done that before?” I ventured.
He barked a short laugh. “More than I’d like.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, looked at me sideways. “You scared?”
I took inventory. My pulse was still sky-high, and my hands were clammy, but the answer surprised me: “No. Not of you.”
He smiled, softer now. “Good.”
We stayed in the alley a few minutes more, letting the city’s noise wash over us until our heart rates slowed to normal. I expected him to say something, maybe make a joke or a deflection, but instead he just looked at me like he was seeing something new.
“Come on,” he said finally. “You owe me a coffee.”
“I do?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “It’s in the Good Samaritan handbook. Page two.”
We walked back out onto the street, and the night had changed, maybe not for anyone else, but for us. In that moment, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sense of calm washed over me, and I no longer felt the urge to flee.
Instead, I turned to Aiden and said, “So, about that date you asked for.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“I’m free after my shift tomorrow. If you’re not too busy rescuing the city.”
He grinned, and it was the real thing, wide and bright and unguarded. “I’ll be there.”
We continued walking in silence for the rest of the block towards my apartment building, his hand brushing mine every so often, a quiet reminder that I wasn’t as alone as I sometimes felt.
The air filled with a quiet anticipation. And I thought: maybe the tracks don’t end. Maybe they just change direction when you least expect it. Maybe, just maybe, I could let myself stay on for the ride.
When we reached my building, I hesitated at the door, reluctant to break the spell.
“You want to come up?” I asked. It was out before I could stop myself. “I owe you a coffee after all.”
He considered, then nodded. “Okay.”
When I pushed through the apartment door, Aiden trailing behind me, Mateo was sitting on the sofa in the dark. Not sprawled. Not curled up. Cross-legged, elbows on his knees, face lit faintly by the blue glow of the hallway nightlight.
He looked small in that too-quiet way kids do when they’re trying not to be.
For a second, I thought he might be asleep.
His head was bowed, hair a mess, shadows cutting sharp lines across his face.
Then he lifted his head, eyes already open.
Too alert. His lashes were still clumped, like he’d wiped at them too hard.
“Hey, buddy.” I tried to keep my voice light. “You’re supposed to be in bed, not haunting the living room.”
His gaze slid past me to Aiden. He didn’t point. He just tipped his chin toward him.
“That’s him,” Mateo said.
No wobble. No dramatics. Just certainty.
The air in the room dropped a few degrees.
I felt it in my spine before I felt it in my chest. I glanced at Aiden, who blinked, clearly caught off guard. He looked from Mateo to me, then back again.
“Me?” Aiden asked gently, like the wrong tone might break something fragile.
Mateo nodded once.
“You were in my dream,” he said. “We were in the woods. There was a river. Not water, light.” His brow furrowed, like he was annoyed at himself for not explaining it right. “The sky was yellow. Like before a storm.”
He swallowed.
“You were there with Mom,” he went on. “You were hurt,” he paused. Then, he continued in a smaller voice. “Mom was crying.”
My heart started doing acrobatics it had no business attempting.
“Teo,” I said, carefully, “it was just a dream. Remember what we talked about? Brains remix stuff when you sleep. Like weird fan fiction.”
He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed locked on Aiden.
Aiden crouched, slow and deliberate, like he was approaching a skittish animal who might bolt if startled. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Your mom’s okay too.”
Mateo nodded, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. If anything, he pulled inward, arms wrapping loosely around his knees.
“The river showed everything,” he murmured. “It was everywhere.”
Aiden’s eyes flicked to mine, sharp now. A silent question hanging in the air: Has he said this before? I shrugged, but my insides twisted like a coiled spring. The kind that comes from realizing your kid might be seeing things you can’t protect him from.
I crossed the room and flicked on the lamp. Warm light filled the space, breaking the spell just enough. I sat beside Mateo, close but not touching. After a moment, he leaned into my shoulder, not fully, just enough to say he was still there.
“You know what helps with bad dreams?” I said. “Planning fun stuff. Like your birthday next week.”
That finally got his attention. He glanced up at me. “The arcade?”
I smiled. Real this time. “The arcade.”
“And air hockey,” he added quickly. “Because you cheated last year.”
“I absolutely did not…”
“You absolutely did.”
I snorted despite myself. “Okay. Even if I did, I’m still winning.”
Mateo huffed a laugh. “In your dreams.”
The edge eased. Not gone but blunted.
Aiden stood and hung back, watching us, the set of his shoulders softening. He looked oddly at home there.
“I should head out,” he said quietly. “It’s late.”
Mateo slid off the couch and stood too. He wasn’t scared now. Curious, maybe. Measuring.
“You really got hurt?” he asked Aiden.
Aiden nodded. “Once or twice. But I always get back up.”
Mateo considered that. Then, carefully: “You’re not… bad, right?”
Aiden stilled. Then he shook his head. “No. I’m not.”
Mateo studied him a second longer, then nodded like he’d reached a conclusion. “Okay.”
After a beat of silence.
“You’ll come to the arcade?” he asked. “If you’re not busy being mysterious.”
Aiden laughed softly. “If I’m invited.”
Mateo shrugged. “Guess you are.”
Aiden smiled, full, genuine, and squeezed Mateo’s shoulder once before turning to me.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, voice thick. “You will.”
He started to turn away, then paused at the door. “If Ulysses tries anything…”
“I’ll call,” I said.
He nodded and left, the door clicking shut behind him.