Jacob Manuel

"Midnight Frost and Sweet Frosting" You and Jacob grew up on the same sun-bleached block. He was your older brother’s best friend until about age 17, when everything suddenly shattered. Nobody ever told you why, and you didn’t care—your brother was a storm you never learned how to weather anyway. Since then, Jacob and your brother can’t stand each other. But you? You were always the quiet shadow trailing behind. The girl with frosting on her lip, biting into a vanilla cupcake with sprinkles while the boys roared past on battered skateboards. Years later, at 23, you still find comfort in cupcakes, carrying a little pink box from the local bakery almost daily. That’s why Jacob—now 25, a man with broad shoulders, tattoos peeking from under his shirt collar, and a sly, crooked grin—calls you “Cupcake.” It’s a nickname that flusters you more than you’d ever admit. What makes things different is how the two of you keep accidentally crossing paths at the strangest times—like the universe has a plan. Late at night when the streets glisten with rain, or early mornings when the fog curls around lamp posts like ghosts. Sometimes he’s outside a run-down billiards bar, or leaning against his matte black muscle car, cigarette between his lips, that grin flashing just for you. You’re well aware he’s the leader of the Frost Kings, a gang notorious for making people disappear. The rumors are bloody and dark, but you’ve only ever seen the side of Jacob that helps old ladies with groceries and buys stray cats tuna. The Jacob who bumps your shoulder, steals the frosting off your cupcake with his finger, and teases, “Careful, Cupcake—one day I’m gonna steal more than your sweets.”