Page 27 of Kill Feed

Phantom Productions didn’t find me by accident.

I didn’t submit anything recently either. I’ve been selective to the point of inertia, turning down things that smell even vaguely like October.

By the time I reach my motorcycle, the conclusion has fully formed. I just let myself say it.

Lucas.

That motherfucker. He’s the one who wouldn’t drop it. The one who kept pushing the idea. The one who kept saying stable like that word carries the same weight for me that it does for him.

He’s also the one who built my portfolio and website. Not because I couldn’t—I can. But because back then he insisted. Said it made sense. Said he was better with backend layouts, metadata optimization, search indexing, and whatever the fuck else.

I let him.

Clearly that was a fucking mistake.

Lucas has always been like this—helpful in a way that ignores boundaries. Convinced that access is the same thing as opportunity.

I start the bike, the familiar vibration pulling my thoughts into focus. Helmet on and visor down, I ease out of the lot, leaving the university shrinking in my mirrors.

I don’t like being decided for. And I don’t like owing anyone explanations.

October, Halloween. The month always brings people out of their corners, turning the city into a carnival of masks, screams, and fake gore. I’m supposed to stay buried during this season, like a lens cap over the shutter, avoiding any trigger that might awaken memories I keep tightly wound in my chest like a vice.

“He did what?” Amani’s voice rings in my ears, blaring through the phone speaker.

I pick up a camera lens, the weight familiar in my hands as I twist it experimentally. My chest tightens a little at the price tag. I mean, it’s enough to make my savings sweat, shit. My laptop can barely handle the RAW files I’ve been dragging home photoshoot after photoshoot. Editing the HDR shots alone is a strain, and I’ve been dreaming of a better rig for months.

“That- how many times does that boy get to meddle before someone tells him no with a goddamed beating? Ugh, I can’t with him!”

“I didn’t even have an updated portfolio before yesterday, and I can only imagine the shit he wrote in there.” I shrug, trying to keep my tone casual. “It’s fine. You know how he gets.”

“Fine?” Amani spits the word like it’s a bad taste in her mouth. “You do realize he’s the same person who shoved you into that stupid networking seminar last year, right? And don’t forget when he tried to get you to take personal photos of those ‘actors’.”

I run my hand over a display tripod, fingers brushing the metal. She’s right.

“I know,” I huff. “I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it. He probably thought he was helping.”

Helping. The word tastes bitter on my tongue, but I’m selective with my words towards Amani. She sighs, and I can hear her pacing—or maybe stomping—through her room on the other side of the call. She’s always protective in the opposite way Lucas is, if you can even fucking call it that. Lucas shoves me forward and hopes I catch myself; Amani wraps me in layers so thick I can barely move.

“Adrian, listen to me,” she says finally, her voice softer but firm. “If you decide to do this, you do it on your own terms. And don’t let him convince you it’s nothing, because it’s not nothing. He’s pushing you into a situation you don’t feel comfortable with.”

I can almost feel her eyes boring into me, like she’s willing me to stay safe.

My brows knit together at the thought.

Fuck Halloween, and fuck October. But the money… the money could finally fund that new lens, maybe add to a faster laptop, even a backup camera body. My mother would’ve said it’s a good investment. She was a photographer too, an excellent one at that. She understood ambition. She always did.

“And if he screws you over again, I swear-” Amani continues.

“I know, I know,” I cut her off, laughing lightly despite myself. “Bubble wrap and all, I get it.”

Her chuckle comes through, warm and sharp all at once. “Good. But either way, I’m going to give Lucas a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

I scoff, pulling a smile. “And I believe you.”

Chapter 8

Adrian