Rain poured from the sky, heavy and cold. It soaked Sylvia in seconds. Her thin slippers slapped against the wet road, and her dress clung tightly to her skin. She hugged her small bag to her chest and ran. If she stopped, she knew she might cry. She could not cry.
Sylvia was twenty years old. An orphan. No parents. No family. No home. Only an uncompleted building at the edge of the city. That was where she slept. Where rats ran freely. Where cold lived. Where fear never left.
A black car sped past. Too fast, too careless. Its tires hit a puddle, splashing dirty water all over Sylvia. Mud covered her face, her hair, her dress. Her bag slipped to the ground. She gasped, scrambling to grab it.
The car did not slow down. It did not stop. No apology. No regret. Nothing. Just red tail lights disappearing into the rain. Sylvia's body shook—not just from cold, but from humiliation, anger, and pain. She whispered to herself, "It's okay… keep going," and wiped her face, refusing to cry.
The uncompleted building loomed ahead. Bare concrete walls, broken windows, no doors. Darkness inside. Sylvia slipped through the entrance and climbed the stairs carefully. Each step felt heavier than the last. She reached her usual corner, a small space near a cracked wall, and dropped her bag. Her hands were still trembling. She removed her slippers, dirty and wet, and stared quietly at them. She did not complain. She never complained.
Suddenly, headlights flashed outside the windows. Sylvia frowned. Cars? Nobody ever came here. She crept closer to the opening, heart racing. Black cars. Two of them. Expensive. Shiny. Out of place. One looked familiar. Very familiar.
Her chest tightened. It was the same car. The one that splashed dirty water on her. The car that had ignored her.
A door opened. A tall man stepped out. Clean. Dry. Perfect. Not a single drop of mud. His eyes scanned the building coldly, like he was inspecting property, not noticing suffering. Sylvia's fingers curled into fists. So this heartless man… could drive past her pain… and stand in front of her shelter. Danger radiated from him.
Two men stepped out of the second car, dressed in black, moving with quiet authority. They approached the building slowly, careful and calculated, their footsteps echoing in the dark. One shone a flashlight inside. The light swept across broken walls, cracked floors, dust, and rubble—then over Sylvia's bag. She sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering.
The beam paused. Just for a second. Then moved on. The men continued cautiously, climbing a few steps, kicking an empty bottle that rolled across the floor with a loud echo. One bent down, touching the dusty ground, studying faint footprints—barely visible, not fresh. He straightened and glanced around.
"She's probably just another street rat," one said casually.
"Nothing important," the other replied. "They all pass through places like this."
Sylvia's chest tightened. Street rat. That was her in their eyes. Small. Worthless. Invisible.
The men turned back. They did not search further. They did not check higher floors. They simply walked away. Sylvia stayed frozen, even when their footsteps and flashlight disappeared, even when silence returned.
Liam did not move. He stood in front of the building, rain sliding off his black coat, face blank, emotionless. His eyes slowly traveled upward, scanning empty window holes, stopping briefly at the floor Sylvia hid on. Time froze. Her heart skipped. He saw her. He didn't care. He turned away.
"Let's go," he said, cold and final. Engines started. Headlights swept across the building one last time. The cars drove away, their sound fading into the night.
Sylvia slid down the wall and sat on the floor, trembling. Not from cold, but from fear and confusion. The man who splashed water on her. The man who stood in front of her shelter. The man whose presence made armed men move. Who was he? Why was he here? And why did it feel like her life had just shifted… without her permission?