Elora learned that the city sounded different after sunset, and she loved it.
During the day, everything blurred together, voices, traffic, footsteps, even her own thoughts overlapping into something loud and careless. At night, the sounds separated. Each one stood alone, sharper, more deliberate.
Growing up, Elora had believed her life would follow a perfect plan she had carefully constructed in her head. She had imagined certainty, ease, a future that unfolded exactly as expected. She learned quickly that the world did not work that way. It did the opposite.
There had been a time when her family of four felt whole. Ordinary in a way that was comforting. A mother who worked long hours but always found time to ask about her day. A father whose presence filled the house. And Lara, her little sister, who trailed after Elora like a shadow, all curiosity and laughter.
The accident came without warning.
A late-night call. A crash. Words spoken too quickly to understand. Elora remembered standing beside her mother, watching her mouth move as she cried and screamed–but hearing nothing at all. The silence had been so complete it swallowed everything else. Lara hadn't survived. The impact had been on her side. She had died on the spot.
Her father lived.
Grief hollowed their home in the months that followed. Her mother grew ill from the shock, her body giving in where her heart already had, forcing her into early retirement. Her father unraveled more slowly, numbing himself with alcohol, blaming his hands on the wheel, his failure to be careful enough. He lost his job soon after. Debts followed. Stability vanished.
And with it, the life Elora had imagined slipped quietly through her fingers.
Now a college student burdened with student loans, she overworked herself, juggling part-time jobs to make ends meet while helping care for her mother and herself. Dreams became obligations. Hope became something quieter–something she carried carefully.
She pulled her hair into a loose bun, welcoming the cool breeze against her neck as she walked away from campus grounds. Adjusting the strap of her tote bag, stuffed with everything she would need for the night–she glanced up at the sky, already darkening above the familiar buildings.
Her phone beeped with a reminder she didn't need.
Evening shift. Coffee shop.
Same as always.
She sighed softly.
Elora took the long way, like she usually did. Not because it was faster–it wasn't–but because it was quieter. The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting pale halos onto the sidewalk. The silence gave her room to think. About life. About her life.
Halfway down the street, a sudden awareness washed over her.
She was being watched.
Elora slowed her steps, pretending to scroll through her phone. The street behind her stretched empty and calm, the kind of calm that felt staged, rehearsed. She glanced at her wristwatch.
7:28 PM.
Two minutes before her shift started.
She quickened her pace, catching her reflection in a darkened window and frowning.
You're tired, she told herself. That's all.
A black sedan rolled past her, unhurried, its windows tinted too dark to see inside. She barely noticed it at first–cars passed by all the time–but something about its pace made her chest tighten.
It didn't rush.
It didn't linger.
It simply… moved.
She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled as it turned the corner.
By the time she reached the café, her shoulders ached from being held too tense. Warmth greeted her immediately as she stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly.
"Hey, Elora," her coworker called. "Right on time as always."
"Habit," she replied, returning the smile.
The shift passed in a familiar rhythm—orders, smiles, quiet conversations that required nothing from her. She liked it that way. Predictable. Safe.
Near the end of the night, she found herself glancing toward the window again, half-expecting to see something or someone.
Nothing was there.
Still, the feeling lingered.
When her shift ended, she clocked out and stepped back into the night, pulling the hem of her cardigan tighter around herself. The street looked the same as before–empty and indifferent.
As she walked, a strange thought settled in her mind.
That something had already noticed her.
And it followed her all the way home.
Somewhere down the street, a car engine started.