Night draped over Haven like a layer of damp velvet.
The rain had stopped, but water still clung to the streets; the lamps cast orange fragments of light across the puddles.
Michael Lane returned to his apartment, shaking off his wet umbrella. His hand paused on the door handle — the faint afterglow of the bar still lingered in his mind.
The alcohol had faded, yet the loneliness remained, rising slowly like a tide inside his chest.
He was about to close the door when his phone lit up.
Nora Hale.
"The rain's stopped. Mind if I stay over for a while?"
He stared at the screen for a second, then lowered his guard.
"My place isn't big," he typed back, "but it's enough for two."
Ten minutes later, she stood at his door — hair half-damp, a small bag in hand, eyes bright with fatigue and quiet resolve.
Michael opened the door. She nodded softly, as if greeting something familiar.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice carried a faint chill, threaded with stubbornness.
The room was small — simple, almost military. Enough space for two people, but not much more.
Michael hung up her wet coat and poured a cup of hot tea.
Nora accepted it, sipping lightly, her gaze turning toward the window.
Outside, the post-rain city shimmered faintly, as though it were breathing.
"You live alone?" Michael asked.
Nora smiled. "Maybe. Like you."
He pressed his lips together, saying nothing — but he remembered her words.
She leaned slightly forward on the couch, both hands wrapped around the cup.
"How long since you left the service?"
"Seven months."
"How does it feel?"
Michael looked into his tea, watching the reflection tremble. "Like a leaf adrift — no direction, no wind."
Nora was quiet for a while, then said gently, "I know that feeling."
She lifted her gaze to meet his — soft, but steady. It wasn't flirtation; it was understanding.
He almost forgot that such a look could exist — one untouched by exhaustion or agenda.
They talked about nothing and everything: the city's lights, the old man who ran the corner store, the smell of the air after rain.
Small words that somehow bridged the gap between two isolated hearts.
Outside, the neon flickered, the hum of the city fading in and out.
Somewhere, far away, a siren wailed — long, hollow, then gone. The radio in the corner crackled once and went silent.
The world felt delicate — as if one wrong breath could shatter it.
Nora leaned back on the couch, her fingers brushing the rim of her cup.
the shimmer of streetlight reflected in a puddle outside.
They sat in silence, each drifting into their own fragile calm.
The rhythm of their breathing, the scent of rain, and the faint hum of the city formed a quiet symphony.
For this brief moment, there was no danger, no future —only presence.
Only two souls who happened to meet in the stillness before the storm.
The night flowed around them like a dark river, carrying time away.
Michael's thoughts drifted — somewhere deep inside, he felt it:
this peace wouldn't last.
Something unseen was already moving through the city,
and when it arrived, Nora would become the one thing he could not live without.