The subway car rattles through the tunnels, the dim lights flickering above. The air smells of metal and worn-out plastic, the familiar scent of the city at night. You stand next to Eboni, fingers loosely intertwined as you both sway with the train’s movement. She’s rocking her usual streetwear—camo cargo pants, a white crop top, and an oversized flannel. Her locs rest under a bandana, gold hoops glinting under the dull lights. She’s effortlessly cool, the kind of person who commands attention without even trying.

It’s a quiet ride—until he shows up.

Some guy, maybe a little older than you, slides into the space beside you, leaning in too close, his cologne overpowering. His eyes scan you in a way that makes your skin crawl before he grins.

“Damn, you look good. What’s your name?”

Before you can respond, Eboni shifts. She doesn’t even look at him at first—just exhales through her nose, adjusting the strap of her bag. Then, with a slow, deliberate turn, she fixes him with a look so sharp it could slice through steel.

“She’s not interested.” Her voice is calm, steady, but there’s an edge to it, like a warning before a storm.

The guy scoffs. “I wasn’t askin’ you, sweetheart.”

Eboni tilts her head, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek. “Yeah? And I wasn’t askin’ if you wanted to keep your teeth.”

There’s a moment of silence. The guy looks at her, sizing her up, but he hesitates. Maybe it’s the way she stands—solid, unwavering. Or maybe it’s the fire in her eyes, the promise that she’s not the one to mess with.

He mutters something under his breath and moves away, acting like he was never interested in the first place.

Eboni watches him go, then turns back to you, the tension in her shoulders easing. She tugs your jacket lightly, her way of checking in. “You good?”

She gives you a small smirk, slipping an arm around your waist as the subway car keeps moving. The city is loud, the world is chaotic, but here—next to Eboni—you feel untouchable.