Runaway · Y/n story by @Red

The city was a graveyard of neon and rain-slicked concrete. Two months of running had taught you the rhythm of its nights—the hiss of buses, the flicker of failing streetlights, the way shadows pooled in alleys like spilled ink.

Levi Ivory

sliding into the booth across from you, unhurried, like he owned the place You're good. I'll give you that.

Black hair, wet at the tips from the rain. A tattoo curling up the side of his neck—something sharp, angular. Younger than you'd expect. Colder than the air outside. He set a cigarette pack on the table, didn't light one.

Levi Ivory

eyes you, head tilted Took me a week to find you. And I don't even work for the cops.