The sun rose again, and at exactly seven in the morning, a calm voice echoed through the quiet apartment.
"Time to head out."
Adrian Vale fastened his watch with practiced precision. His movements were measured, efficient—untouched by urgency or emotion. Every morning followed the same pattern. Wake. Dress. Review reports. Leave.
Order was comforting. Predictability was control. Routines, to Adrian, were like a daily sacrifice that must be done and never skipped. They made him feel sane, in control of everything and everyone around him—his personal life, his work, even his relationships.
At thirty-two, he owned a tech company that sat comfortably at the intersection of finance and innovation. His life, on paper, was enviable. Wealth. Influence. Stability.
And yet, nothing ever truly held his interest. All he ever felt was boredom. It was like a piercing arrow in his heart, removed and leaving a hollow space. A hole etched deep, longing to be filled with something worthy enough to catch his attention and relieve him of that emptiness—a feeling he wanted to nurture, hold, and never let go.
Until it did.
He noticed her by accident the first time. Or so he told himself.
She was walking down the street as he sat in the back of his car, reviewing projections he had already memorized. His eyes lifted briefly—just long enough to register movement—and then lingered.
A young woman with curls brushing her shoulders. Pale skin. A frame so slight it seemed designed to disappear into the world rather than challenge it. She walked with her head slightly bowed, yet there was a quiet confidence in her steps, a softness that didn't ask to be noticed but existed regardless.
She turned into a small coffee shop down the street, the bell chiming softly behind her.
And for the first time in years, something unfamiliar stirred in him. She brought a sense of completeness, a small remembrance of a past when life had felt simpler.
It wasn't desire. Adrian knew desire. This was different.
Curiosity.
"How fascinating," he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly.
The next morning, at the same time, she appeared again.
Same route. Same pace.
Adrian watched from a distance, seated in the black sedan. Light reflected through the window but was blocked by the tinted glass. His hands rested calmly, as if he weren't observing the life of a stranger. He told himself he was merely noting a pattern. Humans were creatures of habit. Patterns were inevitable.
The tablet in his hand glowed faintly, heavy with the amount of information stored on it.
Elora Moore.
The name settled on his tongue more easily than he expected.
Twenty-one. Sophomore at Westside College. Arts and literature. Lives at home. Works multiple part-time jobs.
He absorbed the information without expression.
Her family situation required no imagination—financial strain, instability, quiet endurance. A mother worn thin by grief. A father who had long since abandoned responsibility, drowning in guilt and shame.
"Tsk," Adrian exhaled softly. "Unfortunate."
And yet, beneath the assessment, something else stirred.
Concern.
He dismissed it immediately. Concern was irrational. Emotion was inefficient.
Still, his gaze followed her as she passed, unaware of the way she had altered the rhythm of his days. Once—only once—she glanced toward the street, her eyes briefly skimming over the dark sedan.
Adrian's grip tightened slightly.
She hadn't seen him.
But she had felt something.
That was enough.
Later that evening, he parked across from the coffee shop and stepped inside. The space was warm, filled with quiet conversation and the rich scent of roasted beans. Ordinary. Unremarkable.
She stood behind the counter, focused, her movements careful and practiced.
When the bell rang, she turned.
Their eyes met. Just for a moment.
Her gaze lingered—two seconds longer than necessary—before she smiled.
It was warm. Genuine.
Adrian felt the shift immediately.
He took a seat by the window, lowering his gaze to his phone. Every movement deliberate. He waited.
Minutes passed.
Then her voice reached him.
"What can I get for you, sir?"
He looked up slowly, and for the first time, the temperature of the room seemed to shift.
In that moment, Adrian made a decision he would later pretend was harmless.