Amara pov
The week blurred into long hours at the café, the hiss of steam, and the ache in my legs by closing time. New York still felt cold, but at least inside the café, I had begun to feel almost invisible again.
Almost.
Because every so often, I'd feel it: a gaze that lingered too long, a stranger's face that felt too familiar. But by the time I looked up, they'd be gone—like ghosts slipping back into shadows.
I told myself it was nothing. New York is just full of people, I kept repeating, though my heart never quite believed it.
One rainy evening, the bell above the café door jingled, and my chest tightened before I even turned.
It was him.
Same black coat, same calm authority in every step. But this time, he didn't keep his distance. He walked straight to the counter where I stood, towel in hand, the air between us charged and fragile.
For a heartbeat, words fled me.
"Good evening," he said, voice smooth and low, the faint accent curling around each syllable. "You're still working here, I see."
I nodded, swallowing. "Just started. It's… nothing big, but it's something."
His pale eyes studied me quietly. "Sometimes small steps matter most."
He glanced at the near-empty café, then back at me. "Do you often walk home this late?"
My breath caught. "Sometimes. Why?"
He paused—a silence that felt deliberate, heavy. "New York can be… unpredictable at night," he said finally. "Especially for someone new."
I forced a nervous smile. "I'm careful. Thank you."
His gaze flickered, as if he heard the lie behind my brave words. Then he did something unexpected: he placed a small business card on the counter.
"If you ever feel unsafe… call this number," he said quietly. "Any time."
I hesitated, looking down at the card. It was plain, embossed with only a name: Nikolai Petrov. And a number.
"Thank you," I murmured, my voice softer than I meant.
He inclined his head, almost like a bow. "Have a safe night, Amara."
The way he said my name—it wasn't a question. He knew.
He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "By the way," he added, without looking back, "sometimes it's wiser not to pretend danger isn't there. It usually notices when you do."
Then he stepped into the rain, and the door closed behind him.
I stood frozen, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear the clatter of dishes behind me.
He knows my name.
He's been watching me.
And yet… he warned me.
I picked up the card again, tracing the letters with shaking fingers. I should have felt fear—but what I felt was something far more dangerous: curiosity.
Outside, the rain turned the sidewalks to mirrors. Somewhere in the city, someone was still watching. But for the first time, I had a name.
Nikolai Pov
The rain had turned the city into a canvas of blurred lights and restless shadows. Nikolai watched droplets race each other down the backseat window of his car, his reflection fractured between them.
"She's just a girl," Viktor's voice echoed from earlier, calm but questioning.
Yes, Nikolai thought. She is. And that's why she should be left alone.
But the city didn't care for what should happen. And neither did his enemies.
It wasn't chance that had brought him back to that café tonight. Days of watching from a careful distance had only made the pull worse, not weaker. The moment he saw fear flicker behind her smile, the decision was made before he admitted it to himself.
He couldn't keep pretending she was invisible.
"Do you often walk home this late?"
The question had slipped out harsher than he meant, edged by the anger he felt at the idea of anyone trying to frighten her. Anger he had no right to feel.
Now, the car hummed through wet streets, the city outside alive with sirens, neon, and secrets. Viktor sat beside him, quiet as always, but watchful.
"She accepted the card," Viktor said finally.
"I saw," Nikolai replied.
"And if she calls?"
Nikolai stared at the raindrops turning to silver threads under passing streetlights. "Then I'll answer."
Silence settled, heavy but familiar. Viktor broke it again, carefully. "Boss, you know what it means to let her see you. To know your name."
"I know," Nikolai answered. His voice stayed level, but the weight of it pressed against his chest.
"She doesn't belong in this," Viktor continued, softer now. "Your world isn't built for someone like her."
I know, Nikolai thought again. That's why I should stay away.
But he couldn't. The moment he spoke to her, the line was already crossed.
In the privacy of his mind, he admitted a truth he wouldn't say aloud:
It wasn't just about protecting her. It was also about seeing something pure and untouched by blood and power — something he had lost long ago.
When her wide eyes had met his in the café, it had felt like standing on the edge of a cliff: terrifying, but impossible to step back from.
The car pulled up to the townhouse that served as his unofficial headquarters. Nikolai didn't move to get out immediately. Instead, he sat in the quiet, watching the rain until it blurred everything beyond recognition.
He whispered her name once, barely audible, as if testing how it felt on his tongue.
"Amara."
Soft, foreign, but strangely grounding.
And deep down, in the part of him still unguarded, he knew:
If danger truly found her, he wouldn't hesitate.
Even if it meant burning the fragile line that separated her world from his.
And in that quiet moment, I knew: my life had already changed, even if I didn't yet know how deeply.