The city always looked different at dusk. The sunlight drained from the glass windows, replaced by reflections of neon and headlights, a thousand fractured lights painting the streets in colors too harsh to be beautiful. People hurried home, slipping past one another in a blur, while I walked slower, hugging my coat closer as if it could shield me from the day that had clung to me like fog.
It had been ordinary, I reminded myself. Meetings. Deadlines. Daniel's muffin and his soft smile. Ordinary. Comfort.
So why did it feel like the air itself had shifted since this morning?
I was halfway down the block when the sensation returned—that heavy, unshakable awareness crawling over my skin. Watching. Waiting.
My steps faltered.
And then I saw him.
He leaned against a black car like it was a throne and the street belonged to him. The same stranger from the morning, suit tailored sharp as a blade, presence impossible to ignore. Even from across the street, his gaze was anchored to me—dark, unreadable, consuming.
I froze, breath caught in my throat.
"You shouldn't walk alone this late," his voice carried easily over the hum of the city. Deep. Steady. Certain.
Something in the way he spoke made it sound less like a warning and more like a decision he had already made for me.
My hand tightened around the strap of my bag. "I'm fine," I said, though it came out smaller than I wanted. "I always walk home."
He tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. "Fine doesn't mean safe."
The words crawled beneath my skin, unnervingly intimate, as though he already knew the parts of me I kept buried.
I swallowed, forcing myself to hold his stare. "Do I… know you?"
"No," he said simply, pushing away from the car and taking a slow, deliberate step toward me. "But I know you."
A shiver slid down my spine. "That doesn't make sense."
"Doesn't it?" His eyes didn't waver, studying me like I was a puzzle he'd already begun to solve. "Some things don't need sense. They just are."
I stepped back instinctively, though he hadn't crossed the street. Not yet. "Look, I don't know what you want, but—"
"I want to see you walk home safely." His tone was calm, measured, but there was steel beneath it. "That shouldn't scare you."
"It doesn't," I lied.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, the kind of smile that felt more like a knowing smirk. "You're braver than most."
I should have turned and left. Should have walked faster, let the crowd swallow me up. But instead, I lingered, caught in the gravity of a man I didn't even know.
"What's your name?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He studied me for a beat too long. Then, finally:
"Adrian."
The name struck the air between us like a mark I hadn't agreed to but now carried anyway.
"And you are…" he continued, the pause deliberate, "Elena."
My breath hitched. He shouldn't have known that. I hadn't told him.
"How"
His gaze didn't falter. "I told you. I know you."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Forcing myself to break the stare, I turned sharply, pushing into the crowd, willing my feet to carry me away before the weight of his presence pulled me under.
But even as I walked, I could feel him. Like a shadow stitched into the fabric of my day. Unseen, but inescapable.
And deep down, some quiet part of me whispered the truth I didn't want to admit:
This was only the beginning.