[Luke’s POV]

The soft morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Skye’s penthouse, casting a warm glow across the room. As I slowly drift into consciousness, I become aware of the gentle rise and fall of Skye’s chest against mine, her arms wrapped tightly around me, our legs intertwined beneath the plush comforter. The events of last night come rushing back, the terror in Skyes, the pain, the overwhelming emotions, but here, in this moment, wrapped in Skye’s embrace, I feel safe and loved.

I blink my eyes open, adjusting to the light, and find myself staring directly into Skye’s emerald gaze. She’s already awake, her eyes focused intently on my face with an expression of wonder and relief, as if she can’t quite believe I’m really here.

“You’re a very cute sleeper.” Skye’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare skin, sending little shivers of pleasure down my spine. I can feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, a stark contrast to the cold metal table from last night.

I smile, relieved to find my throat feeling much better than it did just hours ago. “You look cute when you’re awake,” I reply, my voice a little rough but no longer painful.

Skye’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of my voice, a mix of emotions flashing across her face: relief, joy, and a lingering hint of guilt. Her arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. I can feel her heart racing against my chest, a reminder of how close we came to losing this.

“How long have you been awake?” I ask softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. My fingers linger on her cheek, reveling in the softness of her skin.

Skye leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “A while,” she admits, opening her eyes to meet my gaze again. “I... I couldn’t sleep much. I kept waking up to check on you, to make sure you were still breathing.”

The pain in her voice is palpable, and I feel a pang in my chest. I lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m okay, Skye,” I whisper against her skin. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Skye’s grip on me tightens suddenly, her fingers digging into my skin with desperate intensity.

“But you did,” she chokes out, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Last night... I killed you, Luke.”

The words hang heavy in the air between us, filled with the weight of guilt and fear. Skye’s usual confidence, her larger-than-life presence, seems to have evaporated entirely. In its place is a vulnerability I’ve never seen before, she looks small, fragile, utterly defeated.

“I’m not upset,” I say softly, trying to reassure her. My hand moves to cup her cheek, thumb gently wiping away a tear that has escaped.

Skye’s reaction is explosive and immediate. She jerks away from my touch, her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and anguish.

“Well, I am!” she yells, her voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. “I’m upset with myself, Luke! How can you not understand that?”

Her words come out in a rush, each one laced with self-loathing and frustration. She pushes herself up, sitting with her back against the headboard, knees drawn up to her chest.

“I’m supposed to protect you,” she continues, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I’m Super Star, for God’s sake. And I killed you, the person I love most in this world…..for the second time. How am I supposed to live with that?”

I sit up slowly, wincing slightly at the lingering soreness in my body. Carefully, I reach out to take her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not exactly blameless here,” I say gently. “I was the one who pushed you to choke me harder, remember? I got carried away in the moment.”

Skye turns to look at me, her emerald eyes searching my face. For a moment, a ghost of her usual self flickers across her features, a raised eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, you are a tad bit freaky,” she says, a note of fond exasperation creeping into her voice.

She shakes her head, her brown hair swaying with the motion. “No more choking during sex,” Skye declares firmly.

I can’t help but smirk, unable to resist the urge to lighten the mood. “Don’t you feel that’s a bit rash?” I ask, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Skye’s eyes narrow, her jaw set in a determined line. “I’m serious, Luke,” she says, her voice low and unwavering.

I reach out, gently pulling her back down to the bed. She allows herself to be guided, her body molding against mine as if we were two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

“Whatever you want, honey,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Skye lets out a frustrated groan, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Her breath is warm against my skin as she speaks, “Ugh, you’re far too easy on me.”

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For a moment, we lie there in silence, our heartbeats syncing up as the city outside begins to stir to life.

Skye shifts slightly in my arms, her fingers tracing abstract patterns on my chest. She speaks with a melancholic tone. “Last night, I was thinking... if I lost you again, I think I’d end my life.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Part of me wonders something a bit morbid though. “Can you even kill your…” Skye presses a finger to my lips, silencing me.

“Don’t interrupt me,” she says, her voice gaining strength. She props herself up on one elbow, her emerald eyes boring into mine with an intensity that pins me in place.

“If you were so sad when your ex-wife died,” Skye begins, her voice soft but steady, “why didn’t you try to kill yourself?”

The question hits me like a bucket of ice water, shocking me out of the warm cocoon of our embrace. I blink rapidly, trying to process the sheer insensitivity of her words. They hang in the air between us, heavy and jarring in their bluntness.

For a split second, I’m torn between disbelief and hurt. But then, as I look at Skye’s earnest expression, a bubble of laughter rises unexpectedly in my chest. It spills out of me in a burst of surprise.

“Skye,” I manage to say between chuckles, shaking my head in disbelief, “I tried to kill myself four times.”

The laughter dies in my throat as I watch Skye’s face transform. Her eyes widen, emerald irises expanding with shock. Her lips part slightly, a small gasp escaping.

“What?” Skye exclaims with wide eyes.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of those dark days pressing down on me once again. “After failing four times, I kinda ran out of the strength to do it.”

Skye’s hand stills on my cheek, her touch warm against my skin. Her eyes search my face, a blend of horror and sorrow swirling in their depths. “How did you try?” she asks, her voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between us.

“Well, I jumped off the Tobin bridge twice,” I admit, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.

“The third time I tried pills. I took a whole bottle of my anti-depressants. But a work friend caught me. They randomly decided to check on me that day. I don’t know why. Maybe they sensed something was off.”

Skye’s grip on me tightens. I can see the pain in her eyes, the horror at imagining how close I came to slipping away forever.

“The fourth time I bought a revolver.” I pause, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “I loaded it, put it to my head, and pulled the trigger. But it didn’t fire,” I say, still marveling at the impossible odds. “I don’t know why. It just... didn’t go off.”

I sigh heavily, the weight of those memories pressing down on me. “It was terrifying, you know? Pulling that trigger. Feeling that moment of expectation, of finality... and then nothing.” I shake my head, trying to dispel the phantom sensation of cold metal against my skin.

“After that, I just... accepted it,” I murmur, meeting Skye’s tear-filled gaze. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me to die, watching over me from beyond. Or maybe God was desperate to watch me suffer.”

“Wow,” Skye continues, her voice gaining strength. “You really were not fucking around.”

I nod solemnly, feeling the weight of those dark memories pressing down on me once again. “I really tried,” I admit, my voice soft but steady.

In an instant, Skye’s arms are around me, pulling me into a fierce hug.

“Clearly,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my ear. “No more suicide attempts,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I can’t help but smile, feeling a warmth bloom in my chest at her protective fierceness. “I won’t need to,” I assure her, my voice filled with reverence. "My fiancée is bulletproof."

*****

[Dark Star’s POV]

The cavernous expanse of my underground lair stretches out before me, a labyrinth of shadows and gleaming technology. The air is cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of earth and ozone. Massive stalactites hang from the ceiling like nature’s chandeliers, their crystalline surfaces catching and refracting the blue glow from countless computer screens.

I sit hunched over my workstation. The screens flicker with a dizzying parade of information, surveillance footage, financial records, police reports, all flowing past in a constant stream of data. My fingers fly across the keyboard, the soft click-clack of keys echoing in the vast space.

On the central monitor, a web of connections sprawls across the screen, a digital spider’s web linking faces, names, and events. At the center of this intricate diagram sits a name on a Post-it note.

Mind Mistress

I lean in closer, my eyes narrowing as I scrutinize the information before me. The links between Mind Mistress and The Rapist seem tenuous at best, but there’s something there, a pattern just beyond my grasp. And then there are the others, Ice Cream Truck Woman, with her deceptively sweet exterior hiding a core of pure malice, and Dr. Cowjuice, whose school shootings have left a trail of despair across Detroit.

“Master Bryce,” a gentle voice cuts through my concentration. “You’re working too hard.”

I turn to see Freya, my loyal butler, standing at my side. Her silver hair is impeccably styled, her crisp suit a stark contrast to the rough-hewn walls of the cave. In her hands, she holds a steaming mug of coffee, the rich aroma wafting towards me.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. The leather creaks softly as I stretch, feeling the tension in my muscles from hours of hunched concentration. “I know, Freya,” I admit, rubbing my eyes wearily. “But I’m so close to cracking this. I can feel it.”

Freya sets the coffee down beside me, her movements graceful and precise. “Perhaps,” she says, her voice tinged with gentle reproach, “but even the greatest detectives need rest, Master Bryce.”

As I’m heading up to the mansion, a flicker of movement catches my eye. In a secluded alcove sits Dark Girl. She seems to be hitting the midnight oil as well.

I approach quietly, my footsteps barely making a sound on the cave’s stone floor. As I draw closer, I can see lines of text scrolling rapidly across her main screen, a dizzying cascade of green text against a black background. Several smaller monitors display various social media feeds, news sites, and what appears to be a complex decryption algorithm.

“Turn anything up?” I ask, my voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

Dark Girl startles at the sound of my voice, whirling around in her chair. She practically vibrates with barely contained energy.

“You won’t believe what I’ve managed to do!” she exclaims, her voice pitched higher than usual with enthusiasm. “I created a fake online persona, posing as a guy, and managed to infiltrate The Big Cheese’s Discord server!”

I am impressed by this revelation. “That’s incredible.”

Dark Girl’s grin widens, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I think we’re finally going to catch a break.”

“Keep pushing. But be careful,” I tell her, my voice grave. “This is dangerous territory we’re treading into. One wrong move, and...”

“I understand,” she says, cutting me off, her voice steady. “I’ll be careful, I promise. But we can’t let this opportunity slip away. Who knows when we’ll get another chance like this?”

“Indeed.”