Chapter II - STRANGERS IN THE SMOKE

[Madison’s POV]

The music was too loud.

The lights were too dim.

And the crowd? Wild.

I liked it.

We walked into the bar like we didn’t just come from a battlefield. Like we weren’t covered in bandages beneath our leather jackets. Tangelo was already laughing, pulling Veridian toward the dance floor, both of them eager to drown their exhaustion in neon and noise. As for me? I wasn’t here to dance. I wasn’t even sure why I agreed to come.

Maybe it was the promise of a night where no one knew who we were. No aliases. No blood. No missions. Just strangers in a crowd of other lost souls trying to forget.

I slipped through the thick wave of bodies and found the bar, sliding onto one of the tall stools. A girl next to me screamed with laughter while another fell off her seat in a drunken blur. The scent of sweat, perfume, and cheap liquor clouded the air.

And then suddenly I saw her...

Across the crowd—standing by the far end of the bar—she stood like the world bent slightly in her direction.

She had long black hair that fell in soft waves against a backless, fitted black dress. Her skin glowed in the strobe lights, and the curve of her lips held a danger I couldn't quite name. She looked powerful. Calm. Controlled. And completely out of place in the chaos.

My heart stopped.

I didn’t recognize her face.

But something inside me did.

Our eyes met—and held.

It felt like a pull in my gut. A tether. Like gravity had decided I was hers.

She tilted her head slightly, and her dark lips curved into the kind of smirk that could ruin a woman.

I looked away, pretending not to care, and ordered a shot of something bitter.

“Whiskey,” I said to the bartender, voice low. “Make it burn.”

The drink arrived. I downed it. Still, I could feel her gaze. Could feel the heat crawling up my neck.

This was ridiculous. I didn’t do this. I didn’t get... distracted. But I also didn’t know how to look away from her.

I was halfway through my second drink when I felt a presence beside me—and there she was. She slid into the seat like she owned the entire bar.

“You’ve been staring,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth. Her lips curved again. “I was starting to think you’d never come over.”

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I like a woman who’s bold enough to act.”

I didn’t smile, not yet. But damn, I wanted to. There was something in her energy that threw me off balance and dragged me in at the same time. Like being caught in a riptide you don’t really want to escape.

“Name’s Alya,” she said, offering her hand.

I stared at it for a second too long before taking it.

“Madison.”

Our hands touched—just skin—and I swear the bar disappeared. I could feel it in my chest: this instant, electric knowing. The way the world quieted just a little. The way my fingers curled slightly around hers.

We talked. About nothing. About everything. About the wild people around us, the music, the chaos.

We laughed.

God, I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You don’t seem like the type to blend in with a crowd like this,” I told her, swirling the drink in my glass.

“Neither do you,” she replied. “But here we are. Pretending to be normal.”

“And doing a terrible job at it,” I grinned.

She leaned closer. “You know what I think?”

“Tell me.”

“I think you’re dangerous.”

That caught me off guard. My smile faltered. “Why?”

“Because you make me want to break my own rules.”

I froze. The air between us thickened. It was electric. I didn’t know her. And yet, I knew her. It was insane, reckless, and possibly the stupidest thing I’d ever done—but I wanted her. And I could see in her eyes—she wanted me too.

Without saying another word, I took her hand and led her through the maze of people, past pulsing lights and bodies moving like fire. We didn’t need to speak. We both knew what this was.

Alya followed.

I found a hallway, dimly lit and nearly empty. We leaned against the wall, laughing again like we were kids sneaking out after curfew. She pushed me first—pinned me gently, playfully. Her fingers curled into my red hair, and I tilted my head, letting my mouth find hers.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was urgent. Curious. Starved.

It tasted like liquor and something warmer—something real.

“Still think I’m dangerous?” I whispered against her lips.

“More than ever,” she breathed. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow, we ended up in one of the back rooms—someone’s private lounge. I didn’t care who it belonged to. The door locked behind us.

There, in that low-lit space, we let go.

We shed more than just clothes—we shed names. Titles. Histories.

(For a few hours, they weren’t Vengeance or Aegis. They weren’t trained killers. They weren’t enemies.)

(They were just women who needed to feel something real.)

We kissed like we were starving. Touched like we’d never touched before. There was laughter between the kisses, teasing fingers, breathless sighs.

The world spun and blurred with every gasp, every press of skin.

And when we finally collapsed into the sheets—sweaty, tangled, drunk in every sense of the word—I stared at the ceiling and realized something terrifying.

I didn’t want to let her go.

Not yet.

She curled beside me, black hair fanned over the pillow, her breath soft against my neck. My arm draped around her waist. I closed my eyes and let the alcohol and exhaustion pull me under.

Tonight, I wasn’t thinking about missions or masks.

Tonight, I just wanted to stay in this moment, with her.

Whatever this was…

…felt like the beginning of something I couldn’t stop.

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