Adrian walked down the street. The rain was steady now, drumming against the fabric of his coat. He didn't use the umbrella he kept for himself. He liked the cold. It kept his head clear.
He thought about the girl. Lena. That wasn't her name, of course. He knew her real name was Elena. He'd seen it on the police reports three years ago. He'd seen it in the letters her brother used to write from prison.
She looks like him, Adrian thought. The same way she bites her lip when she's nervous. Same way she tries to look tougher than she is.
He stopped under a streetlamp. The light was flickering, making his shadow dance on the wet pavement. He pulled a small, crumpled photograph out of his pocket. It was old. It showed two kids standing in front of a blue house. One was a boy with a gap-toothed grin. The other was a skinny girl with pigtails.
He didn't need the photo to remember. He'd spent months looking for her. Not because he wanted to hurt her. But because he owed her brother a debt that couldn't be paid in cash.
"She's scared of me," he muttered. "Good. She should be."
He put the photo back. He started walking again. He needed a cigarette. He didn't smoke often, but nights like this made his lungs feel empty.
He reached his car, a black sedan parked in a dark alley. He got in and sat there for a minute, not starting the engine. He looked at his hands. They were steady. They were always steady. Even when he was doing things he knew he'd regret later.
He thought about the way she'd looked at him in the lounge. Those big, dark eyes. They were full of questions she was too smart to ask. She was living a ghost life. Working in a basement bar, using a fake name, hiding from a world that didn't even know she was still alive.
"Julian wouldn't like this," Adrian said to the empty car.
Julian. The name felt like a bruise. Julian was the reason Adrian was here. Julian was the reason he had a scar on his eyebrow and a hole in his chest where his conscience used to be.
He started the car. The engine hummed low. He drove slowly, navigating the slick streets with a precision that was almost robotic. He lived in a penthouse that was too big and too quiet. He hated it there, but it was safe.
He drove past a 24-hour diner. He saw a girl walking with a black umbrella. For a second, he thought it was her. His heart did a weird skip. But then the girl turned, and she was someone else. Just another stranger in a city full of them.
I shouldn't have given her the umbrella, he thought. It's a trail. A connection.
But he'd wanted to see her reaction. He'd wanted to see if she'd take it. She had.
He reached his building and parked in the underground garage. He took the elevator up to the top floor. The doors opened directly into his living room. It was all glass and metal. It felt like a museum.
He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He drank it standing up, staring out at the city lights. They looked like fallen stars.
He went to his desk. There was a file there. A thick one. It was labeled VANCE.
He opened it. The first page was a photo of a man in a prison jumpsuit. Julian Vance. Lena's brother. He'd been dead for six months. A "shanking" in the yard, the guards said. Adrian knew better. Julian had been murdered because he knew where the money was.
And everyone thought Lena had it.
Adrian looked at the next page. It was a list of addresses. Every place Lena had lived in the last three years. She was good at moving. She never stayed in one spot for more than six months. She'd been in this city for four. She was getting comfortable. That was dangerous.
"They're going to find you, Elena," he whispered.
He closed the file. He felt a sudden, sharp anger. Why was he doing this? He could just leave. He could walk away and let her deal with it. It wasn't his problem.
But he could still hear Julian's voice in the dark. Take care of my sister, Adrian. She's the only good thing I ever did.
Adrian rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. He hadn't slept through the night in weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the blood on the floor of the prison cell. He saw the way Julian had looked at him, trying to say something he didn't have the breath for.
He went to the window and pressed his hand against the glass. It was cold.
He thought about the Velvet Lounge. He thought about the way the red velvet absorbed the sound. It was a good place for a girl like her. A place where you could be nobody.
But he'd ruined that now. He'd walked in and he'd looked at her. He'd made her feel seen.
"I have to move her," he said.
But he knew she wouldn't go. She was a runner, but she was also stubborn. He could see it in the way she held her tray. Like a shield.
He went to his bedroom. He didn't turn on the lights. He lay down on the bed with his clothes still on. He stared at the ceiling.
What am I going to do with you, Lena?
He didn't have an answer. He just knew he'd be back at the lounge tomorrow night. And the night after that. Until she either ran away or let him in.
He hoped she ran. For her sake.
But as he drifted off to sleep, he knew he was lying to himself. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to see those dark eyes again. He wanted to hear her voice, even if she was snapping at him.
He was a man who watched. And he wasn't done watching her yet.