The text came through in the dim quiet of her room, glowing stark against the dark. It was from Edric, as always, brief and blunt, a flicker of his energy trapped in the small screen: "Gonna go to the casino to gamble tonight."
Layla felt her pulse quicken at the thought, a strange thrill rippling through her that she couldn't quite place. It was the promise of chaos, of something wild and unpredictable, and in that moment, her sluggish mind grasped at it like a lifeline. The world had slowed to a crawl lately, everything dull and muted under the haze of medication, but *this*—this felt like the edge of something sharp, something real.
"Can I come?" she typed quickly, the words a sudden burst of urgency.
She waited, the silence between them heavy and tense, like the moment just before a storm breaks. Then, his reply came, laced with warning: "Don't. You could get addicted."
Addicted. The word sank into her, thick and sticky, but it didn't scare her the way it should have. Instead, it tugged at the restless part of her, the part always searching for something to fill the void, to push her beyond the numbness. Addiction was a shadow she knew too well, lurking at the edges of her mind, always waiting for a moment of weakness to slip inside. But that didn't stop the pull she felt now—the need to chase the rush, to feel something beyond the dull ache of sedation.
"I won't," she replied, her fingers moving fast across the keys, almost desperate. "I just want to come with you."
She could almost feel Edric's hesitation through the phone, a pause that crackled like static between them. He knew her too well, knew the hunger that sometimes clawed its way to the surface, knew how easily she could fall into the same reckless patterns as him. But Layla felt the tug of it stronger now, the temptation curling around her like smoke, intoxicating and impossible to ignore.
"It's not a good idea, Layla," he warned, but there was an edge to his words, like he was already imagining her there beside him, feeding off the thrill, as if her own excitement would only amplify his. "You don't want to mess with that."
But she did. She wanted to mess with it, to throw herself into the dizzying whirlwind of chance and danger that gambling promised. The sharp clatter of chips, the tension of the cards, the rush of winning, of losing—it all shimmered in her mind, a forbidden thrill that whispered her name.
"I can handle it," she insisted, though a part of her wasn't sure she could. But that part was small, distant, drowned out by the louder voice inside her—the one that craved the rush, the risk. The one that needed to feel alive.
Another pause, longer this time, as if Edric was weighing her words, his own impulses battling with his concern. He had never been one to play it safe, and maybe that was why they fit together in this strange, jagged way—two wild creatures caught in the same storm, both drawn to the edge, even when they knew they could fall.
Finally, his response came, sharp and resigned: "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Layla's heart leaped at his words, the thrill of rebellion tingling in her veins. She knew this was a bad idea. She knew the risks, the darkness that could swallow her whole. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that mattered was the promise of escape, of feeling something other than the slow, creeping numbness that threatened to consume her.
And as she got ready, pulling on her black choker and black dress, her heart raced not with fear, but with excitement. The kind of excitement that always came before a fall.
---
In the velvet haze of neon light, Layla's gaze sliced through the night like a blade, honed and sharp. Her choker sat tight against her throat, a deliberate tug reminding her of the power she wielded, the cool control that draped her like silk. She scanned the room, eyes full of disdain, a potent drug that she inhaled with ease, one that left her blood humming with the familiar thrill of the hunt. Here, beneath the surface of glamour, the stakes pulsed high.
