A car horn blared sharply, echoing down the narrow street, and Iris Calderite jumped, spilling a little of her coffee onto her gloves. "Toronto," she muttered under her breath, half amused, half annoyed. The city had a way of startling you, of reminding you that even familiar streets could suddenly feel foreign. She tucked her hair behind her ear, squinting into the early morning mist that clung stubbornly to the sidewalks. Something was stirring today—she could feel it in the way people hurried past, the way reflections in windows seemed just slightly… wrong.
At the corner near King and Spadina, a man balanced awkwardly on a unicycle, juggling bright-orange basketballs, while a small crowd laughed and filmed him with their phones. Iris snorted a laugh. Toronto never lacked for spectacle. But even as she smiled, she caught movement in the reflection of a boutique's window—a shadow, deliberate, patient, fleeting. Her pulse quickened, but she told herself it was just coincidence. Just the city's way of reminding her it was alive.
Inside the café where she worked, the air was warm and comforting, yet tension had already crept in. Theo was unusually jittery, his hands shaking slightly as he wiped down the counter. He avoided Iris's gaze, murmuring something to a colleague about "strange people." Iris frowned. "Strange people?" she asked, curiosity sharp. He glanced at her, then quickly shook his head, muttering, "Nothing, forget it."
But nothing in Toronto was ever nothing.
Orders came in a rush. A businessman wanted his cappuccino extra hot, a college student argued over oat milk, and a pair of tourists debated the proper pronunciation of "poutine." Iris moved through it all with practiced ease, joking, teasing, and offering sarcastic commentary that earned smiles from most of her customers. Humor, she reminded herself, was her armor. Yet the edges of that armor were fraying.
During a brief lull, she stepped outside to take a breath. Fog rolled in thicker now, swallowing the edges of the streets and muting the usual colors of the city. Across the street, near a mural depicting swirling galaxies, a figure lingered. Tall, still, watching. Iris's breath caught, and she grinned—half fear, half ironic amusement. Are you going to follow me all day, or is this a morning ritual now?
Her phone buzzed. Rowan.
"Coffee at five? Don't wander too far before then."
She typed back quickly:
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Even as she smiled, she caught another shadow moving in the fog—deliberate, fleeting, gone the moment she blinked. Her pulse raced, but she laughed softly, shaking her head. Toronto had a way of keeping her on edge, and somehow, she loved it.
The afternoon brought more chaos. A street performer dressed in a bear costume danced awkwardly for tips, a cyclist crashed into a pile of cardboard boxes he was delivering, and a small group of teenagers filmed everything with exaggerated commentary. Iris helped the fallen cyclist gather his packages, exchanging jokes with him about how Toronto apparently thrived on absurdity. She laughed, a sound that drew amused glances from passersby, but beneath the humor, her nerves buzzed with unease.
By late afternoon, Rowan arrived, leaning casually against a café doorway, a warm smile on his face. "You look like you survived a circus," he said, voice teasing, calm, magnetic.
"You have no idea," Iris replied, rolling her eyes.
They walked together, talking about trivialities—co-workers, city quirks, the bizarre comedy of Toronto life—yet the tension never left. Every reflection in the shop windows, every flicker of movement in the streets, reminded her that something was lurking just out of reach.
By evening, the fog thickened into a soft gray curtain. The streets shimmered under the glow of streetlights reflected in puddles. A food truck near King and Spadina steamed hot chocolate and fries into the cold air, and couples laughed over shared containers. Iris watched them, part amused, part envious, and part restless. Toronto could be ridiculous, terrifying, beautiful, and funny—all at the same time.
As night settled, she returned to her apartment, exhausted but unable to rest. She locked her door, checked the windows, and poured herself a cup of tea. Shadows danced in the corners, and a distant streetcar screeched over steel tracks. The fog outside wrapped the city like a living thing. Somewhere, in that fog, something watched. She didn't know who—or what—but she felt its presence.
Iris leaned against the window, cup in hand, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. Humor had been her shield all day, courage her companion. Tomorrow promised more chaos, more shadows, and perhaps, a closer step toward understanding what—or who—was really following her.