The next morning, Elena woke to sunlight that felt almost cruel. Too bright, too cheerful, spilling across her bedroom like it belonged in someone else's life. She lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for the heaviness in her chest to ease, but it didn't. It never did.
She showered, dressed, and slipped on the same mask she always wore: quiet composure, untouchable calm. A stranger would never guess her insides still carried ash and ruin.
But today, the mask felt heavier. Because now there was him.
Adrian.
She didn't know his name yet, but her mind whispered it anyway, as though it had been carved into her bones long before he'd stepped out of the shadows.
By the time she reached the bookstore, she had almost convinced herself last night had been a mistake. That maybe she'd imagined his words—I'm the one that ruins you—in the way lonely people imagine touches that never come.
And then, around noon, she saw him again.
He was standing across the street, not even pretending to hide this time. A tall, black silhouette against the pale stone buildings. His presence was deliberate, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
Her breath caught. She told herself to stay inside, to lock the door, to call someone. But when his gaze found hers through the glass, she felt something inside her snap.
She went out to him.
---
"You shouldn't be here," she said when she reached the sidewalk. Her voice was calm, though her pulse raced beneath her skin.
"And yet," he murmured, eyes fixed on hers, "here I am."
Up close in daylight, he was worse—far worse. His beauty was sharp enough to cut, every angle of his face chiseled with purpose, his dark eyes unreadable pools. But it wasn't beauty alone that unnerved her. It was the sense that he knew. Things he shouldn't.
Her mouth went dry. "Tell me the truth. Are you following me?"
"I'm not following," he said, stepping closer. "I'm watching."
The distinction made her shiver. "Why?"
He tilted his head, as though studying her from a different angle might make her easier to understand. "Because you don't know who you are yet. And you need someone to remind you."
Her stomach knotted. She hated riddles, hated being toyed with. But there was no malice in his voice—only certainty. Like he was reciting something already written.
"I don't even know your name," she whispered.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then:
"Adrian."
The word slid into her like a key into a lock. A name too dangerous to keep on her tongue.
"Elena," he added, softer now, as if testing the weight of her name again. "You should go back inside. Lock the doors. Pretend I was never here."
Her pride flared. "Why? Because you say so?"
His gaze darkened, a shadow rippling through his expression. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher.
"Because every instinct in you is screaming that I am not safe. And for once, Elena, you should listen to yourself."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The city carried on around them—cars passing, people chattering—but in that pocket of silence, the world narrowed to just him and her.
Finally, Adrian stepped back. The spell broke.
She realized she'd been holding her breath.
He gave her one last unreadable look, then turned away, disappearing down the crowded street without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
Elena stood there long after he was gone, her heart racing, her palms clammy, the echo of his warning thundering in her head.
She didn't believe in fate. But for the first time, she was starting to wonder if fate believed in her.