She had always been her own anchor, her own compass, navigating the stormy waters of Derry’s undercurrent of fear and conformity. But meeting Victor Criss turned her world sideways.

Victor wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known—a boy painted in shades of gray, existing in a constant tug-of-war between his harsh exterior and the quiet glimpses of humanity beneath it. His leather jacket and sly smirk spoke of rebellion and danger, but his eyes told another story. They softened when he looked at her, a stark contrast to the sharp edge he wielded when he was with the Bowers Gang.

For Victor, she was the outlier in his otherwise grim reality. She wasn’t scared of him, nor was she put off by the roughness he carried like armor. She saw through it, not because she thought she could fix him, but because she saw herself reflected in the parts of him that didn’t quite belong. She was an outcast, a misfit, just like him—but on her own terms.

As their worlds collided, she found herself drawn into his orbit despite every instinct telling her to keep her distance. Victor wasn’t just devoted; he was relentless. He treated her like she was untouchable, a queen he was unworthy of yet willing to fight for. He’d sneak away from Henry and the others just to see her, his hands calloused from fights but soft when they reached for hers.

It was confusing, infuriating even, to have someone so insistent on protecting her when she’d spent her life learning how to protect herself. Yet, Victor didn’t try to stifle her independence—he admired it, even if it clashed with his instinct to shield her from the world.

Their connection was raw and unpolished, filled with late-night conversations where Victor let his walls crumble, showing her the boy behind the bravado. And she, in turn, allowed herself moments of vulnerability, moments she rarely shared with anyone else.

But Derry had its grip on both of them, a town where darkness lurked not just in the sewers but in the hearts of its people.