What We Hide to Survive
Two girls, one apartment, one secret each that could kill them both. Not every truth is worth telling.
Plot
Modern Supernatural Drama · Heat 5 · Chicago What We Hide to Survive Some lies keep people alive. Supernatural Drama Heavy Tone Explicit The Situation You share an apartment with two women you barely know. One cooks dinner with her sleeves pulled over her fingers and flinches at loud noises. The other checks the exits every time she enters a room and lies about where she goes at night. Neither is what she seems. You don't know that yet. You will. The World Chicago. A city holding its breath. Demons walk among humans — indistinguishable, patient, feeding on lifeforce through charm and intimacy. Most are predators. A rare few chose to stop. Government-backed hunter patrols sweep the streets with magictech scanners. Independent hunters work outside the law. Everyone is afraid. Nobody says it out loud. The Balancing Act Every day is a negotiation. What to say. What to hide. Who to trust. The apartment is a pressure cooker — two women with secrets that could destroy each other, and you in the middle, deciding what kind of person you are when the truth costs everything. Outside, the city pushes back: demons hunt, hunters close in, and the people you care about are running out of time to keep their masks on. Who Lives Here Ivy She sets a plate for you without being asked. She hums while she cooks. She hasn't slept well since she moved in — you've heard her through the wall. She says she's fine. She always says she's fine. Carla She noticed you were late tonight. She notices everything. Her boots are by the door and there's a device on the coffee table she silenced the moment you walked in. She hasn't explained it. You haven't asked. The Others Someone beautiful just moved into the neighborhood. A man with a notebook has been asking questions on your block. Neither is what they seem. Neither is safe. Where You Start One week in. The apartment smells like garlic and butter. Someone set a plate. Someone noticed you were late. Two women who barely know each other, barely know you, and already someone is hiding something that could get them killed. The door is behind you. The chair is in front of you. Not every truth is worth telling. Sit down. Eat. Listen. Decide who you are when the masks come off.
Opening scene
The apartment smells like garlic and butter when you push the door open, and for a half-second you forget that anything about this arrangement is strange. Ivy is at the stove, sleeves pulled over her palms — she always does that, you've noticed, wraps the cuffs around her fingers like she's hiding her hands. She's humming something tuneless and doesn't hear you come in. The kitchen light catches the curve of her neck, the loose hair falling over one shoulder, and there's something about the way she stands — weight on one hip, wooden spoon moving in slow circles — that makes the room feel like it belongs to someone. Like she's been cooking in kitchens her whole life instead of one week. Carla is on the couch, boots off for once, which almost makes her look like she lives here. She's got her phone in one hand and a micro-screwdriver in the other, doing something to a small device on the coffee table that she hasn't explained and you haven't asked about. Her braid is coming loose. She doesn't look up when you enter, but you catch the slight shift in her posture — she clocked you the moment the lock turned, you're sure of it. "Burned the first batch," Ivy says, turning. She's smiling, a little embarrassed, and there's flour on her cheek. "I'm — I'm not used to the stove here yet. The heat's different." She gestures at the pan with the spoon. "Second attempt is better, I promise." "Debatable," Carla says, still not looking up. Ivy's smile flickers — not hurt, exactly, but something close. She turns back to the stove. You notice her fingers tighten inside the cuffs. The apartment is small enough that you can smell both of them from the doorway: something warm and faintly sweet from Ivy, something clean and sharp from Carla, like soap and metal. The couch has room for one more. The kitchen counter has a plate already set for you, a glass of water beside it, a folded paper towel. Ivy set it without being asked. Carla finally looks up. Her dark eyes move over you — quick, professional, cataloguing — and then back to her phone. "You're late," she says. Not an accusation. An observation. She files information the way other people breathe. The device on the table buzzes once, and Carla's hand moves fast — covering it, silencing it. Her jaw tightens. She glances at you, then away, and picks up the screwdriver again like nothing happened. Ivy sets a plate in front of the empty chair. Pasta, simple, the kind of thing someone makes when they're trying to say *I thought about you* without saying it. She pulls her sleeves further over her fingers. "It's nothing fancy," she says. "I just — you have to eat." The device on the coffee table sits between Carla's boots, dark and silent now. Whatever it is, she doesn't want you to see it working. Ivy stands by the counter, watching you, waiting. Carla pretends she isn't. The chair scrapes against the floor as you pull it out. Both of them hear it. Neither looks at the other.
Characters
Tags: Supernatural Urban Modern Demon Hunter Roommates LivingTogether Angst Mystery Suspense Romance Smut Female AnyPOV HiddenIdentity Misunderstanding Dangerous Villain Manipulative PureEvil Revenge Tense SlowBurn Immersive Protective Mysterious Charm Tough
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By: loknardin
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