30th Floor, Daily Chronicle Building
Harper was a young hotshot journalist in New York—a man with a charismatic aura and eyes that could capture a woman's attention in a heartbeat. Stylish and alluring, he first rose to fame three years ago when he delivered a live television report in the middle of a massive storm that battered New York City, risking his life in the process.
That afternoon, Harper stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of his 30th-floor office at the Daily Chronicle building, gazing over the sprawling city skyline. Arms crossed, he sank into deep thought before finally moving to his desk. He spun his swivel chair around, powered up his computer, and scanned through his inbox. Nothing important—until he was about to log out.
A new subject line popped up: "Seven days of darkness is near!"
Harper frowned, his brows knitting together. He almost laughed it off.
"It's Stacey," he muttered under his breath. "She still believes everything Father Robert told us?" He shook his head, leaning back in his chair as a memory pulled him in.
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Twelve Years Ago
I'm still not sure if it's mere coincidence or something like destiny, but Nadine's path and mine kept colliding over the past twelve years. No matter where we wandered, in the most unexpected moments, our eyes would meet—and linger. What struck me most was that her face never seemed to change.
I first saw her in high school, during a class trip to the zoo. She was a few meters away, taking pictures of the animals, a red ribbon tied neatly in her hair. I started walking toward her, then quickened my pace—but someone blocked my path. When I looked again, she was gone.
My gaze swept the area until I spotted her ribbon drifting through the air. I caught it, holding it tightly, knowing she had been there. My chest ached with the frustration of not speaking to her.
The last time I saw her was during my college practicum at a major New York newspaper. I was attending a press conference when, out of nowhere, my pulse spiked—there she was, standing in the corner in a sleek black dress, smiling at me.
I blinked, half-afraid I was imagining her. But she was real. I pushed through the crowd, never taking my eyes off her. Just as I neared, she turned and walked away. I quickened my pace—then broke into a near run—until I caught her arm, determined not to lose her again.
When she turned around, my heart sank. It wasn't Nadine at all—just one of the network's anchors. Heat rushed to my face as I quickly released her and stammered an apology.