The town's clock tower struck midnight as Charlotte stepped into the fog-laced streets.
She had been warned about wandering this late, but the pull in her chest was undeniable.
It was as if someone—or something—was calling her.
At the far end of the cobblestone lane, a figure leaned against a lamp post.
His coat was dark, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat.
But his eyes—those piercing, storm-gray eyes—caught hers, and she froze.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
"And yet, you are."
Her voice trembled. "Do I know you?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "Not yet. But you will."
He stepped forward, and for a heartbeat, the air shimmered between them,
as though the night itself bent in recognition.