Ashes sat on the windowsill, her soot-colored tail flicking like a metronome to Brandon's spiraling thoughts. The night air drifted in—damp with the scent of oncoming rain and the static charge of inevitability. Brandon leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching the curled-up figure in his bed still knocked out cold. Beth. Even now, bruised and bandaged, she looked like she could lunge for his throat in a second.
"Why did I save her?" he muttered under his breath. Ashes meowed lazily, rubbing against his leg. "Don't look at me like that. I know what I said. I should've let them beat her to death and cleaned up the mess after."
Ashes purred, stretching before curling up on the floor.
"Yeah. I know," Brandon said. "But she didn't fight back. Didn't even reach for her knife. She just… let it happen." His voice cracked in a way he hadn't expected. "I saw her bleed. And for the first time, she looked human."
But he hated that it meant something to him.
That day, he didn't go to class. Instead, he watched her.
Beth was still sore, limping around his room like a caged animal. She didn't thank him. She didn't owe him that. But she hadn't tried to stab him either, which, in a twisted way, counted as progress.
She ate the soup he made without complaint and even scratched Ashes behind the ear once, murmuring that he was "the only decent male she's met all week." Brandon didn't comment, didn't correct her on Ashes being a she and not a he, though he smirked a little. It was the first time he'd seen her act like a real person instead of a walking red flag with a Hot Topic sponsorship.
As night crept over the sky like a shadow, he grabbed his jacket and turned to her.
"Get dressed. You're coming with me."
Beth raised a brow from where she sat on the floor, legs crossed, her arm in a sling. "What, on a date?"
"No." His voice was iron. "It's a field trip."
She followed him without more than a sarcastic groan, pulling on her hoodie and slipping a butterfly knife into her pocket. Brandon didn't stop her this time. If this went sideways, he knew she'd need to defend herself—just not from him.
They left campus under cover of night, Brandon leading the way on foot down dim alleys and cracked sidewalks. Beth trailed beside him, silent but alert, her eyes darting to every shadow. She was still limping.
"Where are we going, Batman?" she finally asked, deadpan.
Brandon didn't answer at first. "You know Shane?"
Beth scoffed. "The asshole drug dealer? I used to see him at club nights. Creepy, but he knows how to throw a party."
"His drugs put a couple of girls in the hospital in the last two weeks. Fentanyl laced into Adderall. One of them's in a coma."
Beth blinked. "So what? You gonna talk him to death?"
Brandon stopped walking. His expression was cold steel. "No. I'm going to end him."
Beth raised her brows. "Right. Of course. Just another night for Dexter Junior."
Brandon stepped in close, nose nearly touching hers. "This isn't a joke. You want to know the difference between us, Beth? I don't enjoy it. I don't hunt for kicks. I do this because the system doesn't. Because people like Shane skate while good people die."
Beth's face didn't flinch, but her eyes flickered.
"You think I do this for fun?"
"I think you've forgotten why you started," he replied flatly. "You kill to feel something. I kill because I already feel too much."
She scoffed. "You really think that makes you better?"
"No," Brandon said, turning away. "But it makes me right."
They arrived at the decrepit loft Shane operated from—a busted-down second-story space above a tattoo parlor. Brandon gestured for her to wait by the side, hidden in the shadows, as he moved with methodical silence up the rusted fire escape.
She watched him go. Watched the way he didn't hesitate.
Inside, Shane was exactly as Brandon remembered—barefoot, high, laughing to himself with a needle dangling between his fingers. He didn't even look up until Brandon smashed his face into the kitchen counter.
There was no scream. Only wet choking and the sound of bone cracking under a precision strike to the temple. Shane dropped like a sack of bricks.
Brandon dragged the body into the bathroom and turned on the sink. As he cleaned his gloves and face, he muttered to himself.
"One less piece of shit in the world."
By the time he returned outside, Beth was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
"You done playing God?" she asked.
He met her stare without flinching. "I did what had to be done."
Beth nodded slowly. "And now what? You kill me too? Get rid of all the 'bad people' while you're at it?"
"I should," Brandon said, honest. "But I won't. Not if you follow my rules."
Beth blinked. "Rules?"
"No killing unless there's a reason. Real, provable harm. You don't hurt people because you feel like it. You hurt them because they deserve it. If you can't do that, I'll stop you myself."
She laughed. "You do realize that sounds like a threat?"
"It is."
She thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"Fine. I'll try it your way."
Brandon stared at her.
"I'm not doing it because I want to," Beth added quickly. "I just don't want to end up like Shane tonight."
"You follow the rules," he said, "and you won't."
They walked back in silence under the moonlit hush of a sleeping city, two monsters carrying secrets, doubts, and blood on their hands.