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The chips were gone.
I stood in my tiny kitchen, staring at the empty spot on the counter where I'd left a family-size bag of jalapeño Doritos. Not moved. Not half-eaten. Gone. The crumbs on the counter looked like crime scene evidence.
Behind me, Kira sat cross-legged on my couch, licking orange dust off her fingers.
"You ate my chips," I said.
She looked up, completely unbothered. "I was hungry."
"You've been here two hours. You already ate the leftover pizza, half a box of granola bars, and the string cheese."
"Your point?"
I crossed my arms. "My point is you show up passed out by my dumpster, tell me you're some kind of supernatural bodyguard, and now you're eating me out of house and home."
Kira shrugged. She'd showered—without asking—and was wearing one of my oversized hoodies and a pair of sweatpants that were too short on her. Her dark hair was still damp, messier than before, and she looked way too comfortable for someone who'd been unconscious in an alley an hour ago.
"I told you," she said, stretching her arms over her head like she owned the place. "I'm here to protect you. That takes energy."
"Protect me from what?"
"Things you don't want to meet."
I waited. She didn't elaborate.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting right now."
I wanted to throw something. Instead, I grabbed my phone off the counter and opened my bank app. Forty-three dollars until payday. Great. Just great.
"Look," I said, turning back to her, "I don't know what kind of scam this is, but—"
"It's not a scam."
"—but I'm not playing along. You need to leave."
Kira's expression didn't change. She just looked at me, calm and steady, like I was the unreasonable one.
"I can't," she said.
"Yes, you can. Door's right there."
"If I leave, you'll die."
The words hung in the air. She said them so casually, like she was telling me the weather forecast.
I laughed. It came out bitter. "Right. Sure. Because my life is so important."
"It is."
"To who?"
"To the Bureau. To me." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "And to the things that are already looking for you."
My stomach tightened. I thought about the shape in my rearview mirror. The way it moved. The way it didn't.
"You're lying," I said.
Kira stood. She moved fast, crossing the room in three strides, and suddenly she was right in front of me. Close enough that I could see the faint scar along her jaw, the way her eyes were darker around the edges, almost gray.
"I don't lie about this," she said quietly.
Her voice had dropped. No more smugness. No more cocky shrug. Just something heavy and tired.
I stepped back. My hip hit the counter.
"Then prove it," I said. "Show me something. Anything."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not that kind of guardian."
I laughed again, harsher this time. "Of course you're not. Let me guess—you're the useless kind?"
Something flickered across her face. Hurt, maybe. Or anger. She turned away, running a hand through her hair.
"Yeah," she said softly. "Something like that."
The silence stretched. I could hear the hum of the fridge, the distant buzz of a streetlight outside.
I should've felt victorious. I should've felt like I'd won. But instead, I just felt tired.
"Get out," I said.
Kira didn't move.
"I mean it. Get out."
"Layla—"
"No." I crossed to the door, yanked it open. Cold air rushed in. "I don't know what you want from me, but I'm not doing this. I'm not—"
My voice cracked. I hated that it did.
Kira walked toward me slowly. She stopped in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. She was taller than me by a few inches. I had to tilt my head to meet her eyes.
"I couldn't save Inez," she whispered.
Everything stopped.
The air. My breath. My heartbeat.
"What did you just say?"
Kira's jaw tightened. "Your mother. Inez Santos. I was assigned to her eight years ago. I failed."
My hands started shaking. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You didn't know her. You couldn't have—"
"She liked black coffee with too much sugar. She sang when she cooked. She called you her little moon." Kira's voice was steady, but her eyes weren't. "And I let her die."
I shoved her.
Hard.
She stumbled back into the hallway, catching herself against the opposite wall. I slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
Then I locked it.
My chest was heaving. My vision blurred. I pressed my back against the door and slid down to the floor.
She was lying. She had to be lying.
But how did she know?
Little moon. Mom used to whisper that when she tucked me in. No one else knew that. No one.
I buried my face in my hands.
Outside, I heard Kira's footsteps. A pause. Then nothing.
Good. Let her leave. Let her disappear. I didn't need this. I didn't need her dredging up ghosts and pretending she knew things she couldn't possibly—
The hallway lights went out.
I heard it more than saw it—the fluorescent buzz cutting off mid-hum. The thin line of light under my door vanished.
I froze.
Silence. Complete silence.
Then—movement.
Not footsteps. Not Kira.
Something sliding. Something wet and wrong, like oil spreading across tile.
I pressed my ear to the door.
The sound grew louder. Closer.
A shadow slipped under the gap. Thin. Black. Moving on its own.
It touched the edge of my shoe.
I screamed.