The wind tugged at her sleeves and carried the city's noise up in fractured layers. Honking, sirens, laughter, a distant song. All of it seemed small compared to the look on Eli's face.
Someone they should have told her about sooner.
She swallowed. Her heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach and was trying to climb back out.
"So," she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "how about you start talking."
Eli rubbed his thumb over the railing, thoughtful. He was usually so easygoing, like nothing in the world could dent that calm. But now there was weight behind his eyes. History. Maybe regret.
"You noticed it your first day," he said. "The way the building feels alive."
She nodded.
"It reacts to certain people. Not everyone. Just the ones connected to the gate. Most never realize. A few do and lose their minds trying to explain it. The rest pretend they feel nothing at all."
"And you?" she asked.
"I learned to listen."
He tilted his head as if hearing something she could not. A breeze slid between them. For a moment she swore she could feel a heartbeat under her hand even though she was nowhere near the gate.
"You work here," she said. "But you aren't like them."
"Maybe I am," he said lightly. "Just in the wrong department."
That sounded like a joke. It wasn't.
The rooftop lights buzzed faintly. The city stretched forever but she could not shake the awareness of the world beneath it. Layers of stone. Locked doors. Whispering walls.
"What exactly did they not tell me?" she asked quietly.
Eli leaned against the railing again. "This building belonged to a family long before corporate names ever climbed its sides. That family built its wealth by containing something the rest of the world refused to believe in. Lost towns. Sudden storms. Entire neighborhoods where nothing grows. Those were traces. Spills. Pressure."
Her skin prickled.
"Mr. Hale's family," she said.
He nodded.
"They have always chosen people to help them tend the boundary. People who carry a specific signature. Not power. Resonance. The gate recognizes it. Responds to it. And when that happens, the family does not ignore it."
Her breath stuttered. "So I was chosen before I even stepped in here."
"More like you were noticed."
She wrapped her arms around herself. "Then why hire me as a regular worker. Why the secrecy. Why pretend this is just an office."
Eli looked at her fully now, eyes softened with empathy. "Because people run when you tell them the truth too fast. And sometimes the gate stops waiting when its match understands what it is."
Her heart pounded harder. The word match echoed through her thoughts. It felt less like romance and more like ignition.
She moved a step away from him. Not out of fear of him. Fear of everything else.
"Are you part of this family?" she asked.
He laughed quietly. "No. Trust me. If I were, they'd have told you that first. I'm what happens when someone notices a pattern where they shouldn't and does not let it go."
"So they let you stay?"
"So they watch me," he corrected. "And occasionally use me to pass along advice. Like the roof."
The pieces clicked together. He had not been a coincidence. He had been placed in her path. Maybe not fully controlled, but guided.
"I should be mad," she said.
"Are you?"
She considered it. "I'm terrified. That feels louder right now."
He nodded. "That makes sense."
They stood together in silence for a moment that was not entirely uncomfortable. The city hummed. The wind whispered. Somewhere deep below, unseen layers shifted like a sleeping animal adjusting in its bed.
She exhaled slowly. "They told me not to go downstairs again."
He tilted his chin. "You want to."
She hated how easily he said that. "Curiosity is annoying."
"Curiosity is how locks get opened."
A ripple of unease rolled through her. "You think it will open."
"I think it already has opinions."
She shivered.
The rooftop door creaked open behind them. She turned quickly, expecting a coworker. Instead, it was Mr. Hale. He looked less polished than usual, tie loosened, tired lines carved around his mouth.
"I see you two have finally met properly," he said.
Eli straightened a little. There was respect there, but not obedience.
Mr. Hale stepped closer and regarded her with a measured calm. "I wanted you to hear things from someone who understands without carrying the burden I do. But there are limits to what he knows."
"Then fill the rest," she said. "No more circles. No more hints."
His eyes softened. "Fair."
He moved to the railing between them and looked down like a man considering both the city and the abyss under it.
"The gate does not simply react to you," he said. "It mirrors. When you touched the seal, it warmed. That means something within it found a memory to match. Something about your life, your past, fit a pattern it has been waiting for."
A chill crawled up her spine. "You think I'm cursed."
"I think you are linked," he replied. "Curses are chains. Links can be used."
Eli's jaw tightened slightly. "Careful."
Mr. Hale gave him a patient glance. "She deserves clarity."
His gaze returned to her. "Whatever sleeps beyond that door feeds on bargains. It gives strength, luck, obsession, love, fear. But it always takes something back. My family sealed it because once, long ago, its bargains almost consumed an entire harbor town."
She gripped the railing. In her chest, something twisted. A dull memory pricked at her. A childhood accident. A moment where disaster brushed against her and then veered away at the last second. A doctor shaking his head like he'd witnessed a miracle.
Had that been luck. Or attention.
"What does it want from me," she whispered.
"We are not sure yet." Mr. Hale's voice held no cruelty. Only honesty. "Which is why we train, observe, and prepare before we allow you near it again."
"Allow," she repeated carefully.
"Yes."
She locked eyes with him. "And if I refuse."
His silence answered more clearly than any speech.
The city lights flickered far below. For a fleeting instant the stars above seemed to pulse in sync with the thought rising inside her.
I am not in control.
That realization hurt more than fear.
"I need time," she said quietly.
Mr. Hale inclined his head. "You will have it. Eli will stay close. If anything shifts. If dreams intensify. If the building pulls at you again. Tell him. Tell me."
She nodded, even though agreement felt like stepping onto a path with no exits.
He turned to leave, then paused. "There is one last thing. The gate will never force you to open it. It prefers devotion. That is what makes it dangerous. And persuasive."
He left them with that and disappeared through the door.
The roof seemed bigger without him. Quieter. More honest.
Eli blew out a slow breath. "He is not wrong. He is also not telling you the part where people like you usually crack."
Her head snapped toward him. "Thanks for the comfort."
He winced. "Sorry. Bad delivery. I just mean it gets messy when fate pretends to be choice."
Fate. The word tasted bitter and sweet at the same time.
Lights winked across the city. She imagined everyone going about their evening without the slightest clue that a living gate hummed beneath their feet. It felt absurd. Unfair. Lonely.
Eli bumped her shoulder lightly. "Hey. You remember that joke about rich people traffic?"
She blinked. "Yeah."
"Same energy. The universe runs on chaos and bad timing. All we do is learn how to walk through it without tripping."
She laughed, surprised. It helped.
They stayed on the roof a while longer. Talking in snippets and silences. Not flirting exactly, but brushing near it. A strange warmth threaded between them. Not the desperate heat of danger. More like relief. Like finding someone else carrying a similar weight.
Eventually they rode the elevator down together. The lobby lights felt softer at night, almost kind. She said goodnight and stepped into the cool air outside the building.
The city embraced her with noise and movement. For the first time since the interview call, she did not feel like she was running away from her old life or stumbling blind into a new one. She felt suspended between worlds. A bridge. A possibility.
Halfway home, her phone vibrated.
Unknown number again.
She hesitated before opening it.
One sentence.
The key is not metal.
She stopped walking. The sidewalk carried strangers past, their conversations floating around her like bits of drifting paper.
The key is not metal.
Her mind raced. If the gate was locked, if generations had guarded it, then everyone had assumed a physical mechanism. A seal. A plate. A structure. But if the message was right, then the lock might be living. Emotional. Spiritual. Maybe even human.
A chill wrapped around her.
A soft, impossible echo surfaced in her memory.
Sometimes the gate chooses back.
Her fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles whitened. She scanned the street, half expecting someone to be watching. No one seemed to care. The world moved on, oblivious.
She started walking again, faster this time. Not running. Just needing walls and a door and the illusion of safety.
That night she dreamed again.
Not the stairwell this time. Not the stone circle. She dreamed of the city stretched out like an open book, with threads rising from rooftops and windows and hearts. Silver threads. Golden threads. Blackened ones.
All of them converged slowly toward a single point beneath the tower.
And there, wrapped in darkness that pulsed like breath, was the gate.
It did not speak.
It looked at her.
Not with eyes. With attention.
It recognized her the way a lock might recognize the hand that has touched it before. A familiarity that was not affection.
Her chest filled with a heavy warmth. Not love. Not fear.
Invitation.
She woke with a ragged inhale and pressed her palms to her eyes. Her heart thundered. A whisper of heat remained on her skin, right where she once touched the seal.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the faint light bleeding through the curtains. Morning had not arrived yet. The world rested. Everything felt suspended.
She whispered to the quiet room.
"I am not yours."
The darkness did not answer.
But somewhere, faint and patient, she sensed amusement.
And something in her finally understood.
This was never about keeping the gate closed.
This was about teaching her what it meant if she ever decided to open it.