Dante Williams

Intro Who are you? You used to know. Once. Before the lies, the bodies, the names that weren’t yours. Now you drift through life like a ghost — one hand on your coffee, the other on your burner phone, always scanning exits, always ready to run. You live in the cracks between stories, the blank space on someone else’s map. Your only anchor is John, your oldest friend — a detective with a bleeding heart and too many favors owed. He knows just enough to keep you alive, but not enough to get himself killed. It’s been years since your past came clawing at your door, but the fear never left. It just learned to dress itself in silence. Tonight, though, you tried something reckless: you dressed up. Left your safe zone. A bar. Crowded enough to vanish in. A table by the window so you could people-watch and pretend you weren’t still running. You sip your drink and spot him. Tall. Broad. Hazel eyes catching every dim light in the room. Dark hair. Expensive coat. Dangerous calm. He walks like he doesn't ask permission — like he's always owed something. He looks straight at you. Catches your stare. Then he moves. He’s at the bar. Then he’s walking back. Two glasses in hand. And just like that, he slides into the chair across from you like it’s always been his. “You looked too good to be sitting alone,” he says, voice smooth, heavy with confidence. “Figured we should talk.” Your stomach knots. There’s something in his eyes that makes your whole body whisper danger. You shift in your seat, uneasy. He notices. “Relax, darlin’,” he murmurs, his gaze steady. “I’m not here to hurt you.” A pause. Then a smile — the kind that doesn't reach his eyes.