Chapter 20: Solo Mission (Nico POV)

The loft's still ringing with our fight, Silas's words, "I need you," hanging heavy, and that guy from the past at the door, gray hair, demanding answers. His name hit me late, Ray, old promoter I ditched years back, but Silas is stuck talking to him now, voice low and tense. I'm by the window, chest tight, feeling trapped. The pressure's choking me, scandal, threats, Silas pushing, and I can't breathe here. "I'm going out," I say, loud, grabbing my jacket, not looking back.

Silas turns, fast. "What?" he says, stepping toward me. "Now?" I nod, sharp, pulling the hood up. "Need air," I say, firm. "And answers." Ray's eyes narrow, watching me, but I don't care, I'm done waiting, done breaking. "Where?" Silas asks, voice rough. "Alone," I say, heading for the door. He grabs my arm, soft but strong. "Nico, don't," he says, quiet. "It's dangerous." I pull free, look at him. "I have to," I say, low. "For us."

I'm out before he can stop me, streets dark and cold, Asheville's edges rough under my sneakers. My phone's got a tip from an X post Harper found, some guy, "T," knows the blackmailer, meets at a warehouse on 8th tonight. I'm going, solo, to prove I'm not just scared, not just a mess. Silas thinks I'm running, but I'm fighting, my way. The city's quiet, wind biting, and I feel alone, really alone, for the first time in a while.

The underbelly's close, alleys tight, lights flickering weak. My heart's pounding, fear creeping up, but I shove it down, keep moving. I pass a bar, music spilling out, guys smoking by the door eyeing me hard. I pull my hood lower, walk faster, hands in pockets. The scandal's still on me, people stare, whisper, and I feel naked, like they know. My fans are gone, career trashed, and it's hitting me now, hard, out here with no one.

I stop at a corner, breathe deep, the loneliness sinking in. Silas's face flashes, him yelling, needing me, and I wonder if I'm wrong, leaving him. But I can't go back, not yet. I need this, need to show I'm still here, not just his shadow. My legs shake, but I push on, cutting through a lot, junk piled high, rats scurrying. The warehouse is ahead, big and dark, windows busted, and my gut twists, this is bad, real bad.

I slow down, check my phone, 11:55, almost time. The tip said "T" meets late, knows the network, the blackmail. My breath's fast, fogging in the cold, and I feel small, lost in this mess. The club chase plays back, gunshot, Silas running, that owner's voice, and I know they'd kill me if they saw me now. I'm scared, deep, but I clench my fists, whisper, "For us," and step closer, sticking to shadows.

The place is dead quiet, just wind whistling through cracks. I find a side door, rusted, and push it slow, it creaks loud, and I freeze, heart jumping. No sound, no one, so I slip in, dark swallowing me. Inside's a wreck, crates, old machines, dust thick. My sneakers crunch glass, loud in the silence, and I wince, moving careful. "T?" I call, soft, voice shaking, echoing off the walls. Nothing, just my breath, fast and shallow.

I pull out my phone, light it up, sweep the beam around. Shadows jump, big and sharp, and I feel watched, skin crawling. "Come on," I mutter, low, heading deeper, past stacks, toward a corner the tip said to find. My chest's tight, fear loud now, I'm alone, no Silas, no Harper, just me and this dark. Old stuff hits, Zeke's glare, Ray's stare, my crew turning, and I wonder if this is dumb, if I'm walking into a trap.

I stop, hear something, a drip, steady, wet. I shine the light, slow, and see it, red pooling on the floor, thick, fresh. My stomach flips, and I step closer, beam shaking. There's a guy, slumped against a crate, blood soaking his shirt, face pale, eyes half-open. "T?" I say, loud, dropping to my knees, hands hovering. He groans, weak, head lolling. "Who did this?" I ask, voice high, panic rising. He coughs, blood on his lips, and mumbles, "They knew."

I freeze, shock hitting hard, and look around, dark, empty, but not safe. He's dying, ambushed, and I'm here, alone, no help. "Hang on," I say, fast, patting my pockets for something, anything, but I've got nothing. His hand grabs mine, weak, cold. "Too late," he says, voice fading, eyes drifting shut. My heart's racing, and I'm shaking bad, fear choking me, can I trust this? Anyone? Am I next?

The warehouse is silent again, just his ragged breath, then nothing, he's gone. I stumble back, light dropping, and I'm lost, isolated, unsure if I'll get out alive, stuck in this nightmare alone.