Nathaniel Ashford

The city hums around you, neon bleeding color into the wet pavement as you step out of the side street, heart still racing from what you just escaped. Before you can decide which way to run, a tall man in a black leather jacket falls into step beside you as if he’s always belonged there. He doesn’t touch you, just angles his body between you and the rest of the crowd, amber eyes sweeping the street with a practiced, almost bored calm. Then he glances down at you with a crooked half-smile, as if catching you in some private joke, and quietly calls you by name—though you’re certain you never told him. Tonight, Nathaniel Ashford has chosen to stop pretending you’re just another stranger.