The storm rolled in without warning.
One moment, the streets were calm beneath the pale glow of the streetlights. The next, the heavens split apart with a roar. Lightning ripped jagged scars across the sky, and rain poured down in violent sheets.
I yanked my jacket tighter around myself, but it did nothing. Within seconds, I was drenched, water clinging to my hair, my clothes, my skin. Each step splashed through puddles, my shoes squelching with every hurried stride.
"Perfect," I muttered, teeth chattering.
The city blurred around me neon signs bleeding their colors into the night, headlights flashing like restless eyes, raindrops stinging my cheeks like shards of glass.
And then came the voices.
They always did.
I should have taken the umbrella.
She'll be furious if I'm late again.
I want to run. Run until my lungs burst.
Thoughts that weren't mine. They never were.
Strangers passed me on sidewalks, huddled under awnings, dashing across intersections, staring blankly through fogged car windows. Their minds pressed into mine like uninvited guests, demanding attention, clamoring to be heard.
I clenched my jaw and did what I'd practiced for years erect walls, block them out, drown the noise before it drowned me.
But walls were flimsy things. And storms had a way of finding cracks.
My temples throbbed. The whispers clawed harder, louder. Every step I took felt heavier, the weight of hundreds of thoughts dragging me down.
I needed somewhere anywhere to hide until the storm passed.
That's when I saw it.
A bookstore.
Small, wedged between a laundromat with flickering fluorescent lights and a shuttered café that looked long dead. Its windows were fogged with condensation, its wooden sign swinging wildly in the wind.
Warm light spilled faintly through the glass, a fragile promise against the storm's fury.
I didn't hesitate.
The bell above the door jingled weakly as I shoved it open, slamming the storm out behind me.
The air inside was thick with the scent of old paper and dust. It wrapped around me like a blanket, musty but strangely comforting.
The roar of the storm dulled, reduced to a steady drumming on the roof, the occasional flash of lightning staining the shelves in pale light.
My chest loosened.
Silence. Blessed silence.
Shelves rose high toward the ceiling, lined with spines faded by time. A single bulb flickered overhead, bathing the shop in a dim golden glow.
Empty.
Relief trickled through me like warm water. No people meant no voices. Just the quiet company of forgotten stories.
I moved slowly between the shelves, trailing my fingers along cracked leather and frayed covers. Dust clung to my fingertips. The silence pressed against me, heavy, but it was mine.
For once, the thoughts I heard belonged only to me.
Until they didn't.
A shiver rippled down my spine.
I froze, hand hovering over a book. At first, I told myself it was my imagination. The residue of nerves, the storm's unease bleeding into me.
But no this was different.
Someone was here.
An awareness brushed against me not a voice, not words, but something heavier. The prickle of eyes on my skin. The kind of instinct that made prey twitch before the predator pounced.
Slowly, I turned.
And froze.
He stood near the back of the shop, half-swallowed by shadow.
A man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Leaning lazily against a shelf with a book in his hands. His head bent slightly, dark hair falling across his forehead, but I could feel his gaze long before he lifted it.
When his eyes finally met mine, the air left my lungs.
Dark eyes piercing, unyielding, as if they saw straight through flesh and bone into the fragile core of me.
My pulse stumbled. My knees weakened.
Instinct took over.
I reached for him.
For his thoughts.
Always, that was my safety. My weapon. My wall. I had never faced a person whose mind I couldn't reach.
But this time
Nothing.
I frowned, reaching harder, searching the edges of him. Still nothing.
No whispers.
No flickers of desire.
No half-buried lies.
Just… silence.
Impossible.
I staggered back a step, breath catching in my throat. Maybe I'd made a mistake. Maybe exhaustion and the storm had drained me more than I realized.
I tried again. Harder this time, shoving past the darkness, clawing for even a shred of thought.
Pain lanced through my skull. My head throbbed with pressure, temples pounding as if my brain might crack. The harder I pushed, the thicker it became darkness swallowing me whole.
A void.
Not silence. Not emptiness. A black wall that pushed back.
I gasped, tearing myself free. My vision blurred at the edges, chest heaving.
And that was when he smiled.
Slow. Dangerous.
A smile that didn't belong in a quiet bookstore. It belonged in nightmares.
"Enjoying yourself, little dove?"
The sound of his voice slid over me like velvet. Smooth, low… but edged with something sharp, a hidden blade beneath the silk.
My mouth went dry. "W-what did you just call me?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he snapped the book shut. The thud echoed in the silence, loud enough to make me flinch. Then he straightened, stepping free of the shadows with a grace too deliberate, too fluid, like water given flesh.
Every step he took toward me sent a pulse through my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs, throat tightening. My body screamed move, but my feet stayed rooted to the ground.
Outside, the storm raged louder, as if the world itself reacted to him.
Lightning cracked. Thunder rolled. The glass windows rattled in their frames.
I reached for him again one last desperate attempt to pierce the wall around him.
Darkness.
Thick. Unyielding. Alive.
For years, I had drowned in voices, in too much noise, too many secrets. But this wasn't noise.
This was absence.
A void that consumed everything I threw at it. A vacuum that threatened to devour me whole.
My power recoiled, shuddering like a wounded animal.
"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice trembling despite the heat burning in my veins.
He tilted his head, studying me. Not like a person. Not like someone curious.
Like a predator deciding how best to break its prey.
His lips curved again, sharp, amused, dangerous.
"The question is…"
He stopped just inches away. Close enough that the heat of his body seeped through the cold dampness of my clothes. Close enough that I could smell rain clinging to his skin, sharp and clean, cut with something darker beneath it.
"…who do you think I am?"
My breath came in shallow bursts. My chest tightened until each inhale hurt.
Every instinct screamed danger. My body begged me to run, to flee back into the storm, to escape.
But I couldn't move.
Lightning flashed across his face, carving his features in stark relief. For one brief, electric second, I saw it.
Something in his eyes. Something wrong. Something not human.
And in that moment, I knew
Whatever he was, he wasn't like anyone I had ever met before.
For the first time in my cursed life, I had found someone I couldn't read.
And that terrified me more than anything.