Starlight City pulsed like a living thing that night. Neon signs flickered over rain-slick streets, painting the air in streaks of pink and violet. Music thundered from somewhere down the block, basslines weaving through the humid summer haze. It smelled of wet pavement, fried street food, and the faint bite of magic — a metallic tang on the tongue, sharp and restless, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Arielle Torres slipped her camera strap over one shoulder and let her boots carry her along the crowded street. Her lens cap dangled from its tether, tapping against her hip with each step. She wasn't here to party, not really. Pride Month had turned Starlight City into a kaleidoscope of flags and joy, but she was hunting for moments — snapshots that would outlive the night.
The thing about Arielle, though, was that she didn't just see people. She saw threads.
They shimmered faintly in the air, invisible to everyone else. Thin, luminous strands stretched between hands brushing in the crowd, between strangers locking eyes for the first time, between couples pressed close as they danced. Some threads glowed soft gold — love, pure and steady. Others sparked in crimson bursts, hot and reckless, destined to burn out as quickly as they ignited. And some… some sagged, dull and fraying, like the last strands of a rope about to snap.
Arielle adjusted her camera and tried, as always, to ignore them. Pretend they weren't there. Pretend she was just another photographer trying to make rent in a city that chewed people up and spit them out. But every time her finger hovered over the shutter, the threads pulled her gaze, begging her to notice.
She caught herself staring at one in particular — a glimmering, emerald-green cord stretching between a young couple on the curb. They were laughing, breathless, sharing a cheap umbrella as rain tapped against its plastic canopy. The thread vibrated softly, like a plucked guitar string. True love. Rare, and beautiful.
"Creepy, isn't it?"
The voice came from behind her, low and smooth, with a cadence that didn't quite belong to this street. Arielle turned sharply, her fingers instinctively curling tighter around her camera.
The speaker was… striking. They stood out from the crowd, even here, where every other person sparkled in sequins and glitter. Tall, androgynous, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair that seemed to catch every neon glint in the air. They wore a long black coat despite the heat, and when they smiled, it was the kind of smile that felt deliberate — like they knew something you didn't.
"Excuse me?" Arielle asked, tilting her head. Her voice came out cooler than she felt. It always did when she was caught off guard.
The stranger gestured lazily toward the space between her and the couple. "You see them, don't you? The threads."
Arielle's chest tightened. She hadn't told anyone about the threads — not her roommates, not her best friends, not even her ex, who'd once accused her of "spacing out like a ghost" whenever they went out together. Most days, she wondered if she was going insane. But this stranger… they said it so casually, like discussing the weather.
"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," she said, but her fingers twitched against her camera. A nervous tell.
The stranger tilted their head, eyes glinting. "No, I haven't. You see connections. Bonds. The way love ties us together, for better or worse. Most people are blind to it, but not you. And not me."
Before Arielle could respond, they reached into their coat and pulled something out — a slender silver needle, no longer than a finger. It pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own. With a deft flick of their wrist, they swept the needle through the air toward a pair of arguing strangers nearby. The thread between the strangers — a brittle, ash-gray line — snapped with a faint pop.
The couple stopped arguing mid-word. They blinked at each other, confused, like they'd just woken from a dream. Then, without another word, they turned and walked away in opposite directions.
Arielle's mouth went dry. "What the hell did you just do?"
The stranger tucked the needle away. "Cleaned up a mess. That bond was dead anyway. You'll learn to do it yourself, if you want." They extended a hand, fingers long and pale. "I'm Selene."
Arielle didn't move. Her pulse thudded in her ears, louder than the bass from the nearby street performers. Magic was real — she'd suspected it for years, but seeing it wielded so casually left her unmoored.
"What do you want from me?" she asked carefully.
Selene's smile softened, though their eyes stayed sharp. "Want? Nothing… yet. But the city is unraveling, thread by thread. You can see it, can't you? All those frayed bonds? They're not breaking on their own. Something's feeding on them."
A gust of wind swept through the street, sending rainbow flags snapping and making the neon signs flicker. Somewhere down the block, fireworks cracked open the sky in bursts of red and gold. Arielle glanced around, and for the first time, she noticed something she'd never seen before: a thread stretching high above the crowd, thick and dark, winding upward into the night like smoke.
It pulsed. Once. Twice. Then it began to fray, fibers peeling away like ash on the wind.
Selene followed her gaze and nodded. "See? Starlight City is bleeding. And you, Arielle Torres, are either going to help me stitch it back together… or watch it all come apart.