Toronto blinked.
That was the only way Iris Calderite could explain it.
One moment the bridge behind them hummed with distant traffic and dripping rain, the next—silence. Not peace. Not calm. A deliberate pause, as if the city itself had taken a breath and was waiting to see what she would do next.
Iris stopped walking.
Rowan noticed immediately. He always did.
"What is it?" he asked softly, not turning around yet. His voice was steady, but his shoulders were tight.
"The city feels… wrong," Iris said. "Like it knows we're still moving."
Rowan finally turned. Streetlights flickered behind him, briefly washing his face in gold before plunging it back into shadow. "Then let's not give it the satisfaction of fear."
She almost laughed. Almost.
They walked on, footsteps echoing too loudly for streets that should have been busy. Storefronts were dark. Cafés that normally glowed late into the night stood shuttered, chairs stacked like abandoned skeletons. Even the air felt thinner, stretched.
Iris's phone vibrated.
Once.
She froze.
Rowan's hand closed around hers instantly. "Don't answer yet."
Another vibration.
Then the screen lit up on its own.
UNKNOWN CONTACT
You're improving.
Her stomach dropped.
"Rowan…" she whispered, tilting the screen toward him.
He didn't swear. He didn't panic. That scared her more than any reaction could have.
"They're not hiding anymore," he said quietly. "They want you alert. They want you aware."
Another message arrived.
You followed the pattern correctly.
Now let's see what you do when it breaks.
The streetlight above them went out.
Then the next.
Then the next—until the road ahead dissolved into darkness.
Iris's breath quickened. "This isn't coincidence. This is choreography."
"Yes," Rowan said. "And we just reached the part where the audience stops laughing."
A sound echoed behind them.
Not footsteps.
Dragging.
Metal against concrete.
Slow. Intentional.
Iris turned despite herself—and saw it.
Something had been painted on the road.
No.
Not painted.
Burned.
A symbol—large, jagged, familiar. The same pattern they had followed across the city, now distorted, fractured, broken open like a warning sign screaming without sound.
"This wasn't here before," she said.
Rowan nodded. "They want you to understand the rules have changed."
Her phone vibrated again.
Run.
She didn't argue.
They ran.
Their footsteps pounded against pavement as the city unfolded into narrow side streets and sharp corners. Rain returned suddenly, heavy and unforgiving, blurring lights and vision alike. Iris slipped once, Rowan catching her before she hit the ground, pulling her close without breaking stride.
For a split second, pressed against his chest, fear melted into something else.
Trust.
Heat.
Something dangerously human.
They ducked into an underground parking structure, breath ragged, hearts hammering. The space smelled of oil and damp concrete. Rowan pushed them behind a pillar just as footsteps echoed past the entrance.
Not hurried.
Measured.
Controlled.
Whoever was following them didn't need to rush.
"They know where we are," Iris whispered.
Rowan shook his head. "They know where you could be. That's different."
Her phone buzzed again.
A video file.
She hesitated.
Then played it.
The screen showed footage—grainy, shaky—of Iris earlier that morning. Leaving her apartment. Pausing to adjust her coat. Laughing briefly at something Rowan had said.
Her chest tightened.
The video ended with text:
You are never unseen.
Silence stretched between them.
Rowan's jaw clenched. "This is obsession."
"No," Iris said softly. "This is control."
She exhaled slowly, grounding herself. Panic wouldn't help. Fear wouldn't win.
"What do they want?" Rowan asked.
Iris looked up at him, eyes sharp now, something steel beneath the fear. "They want me to choose wrong."
A sudden noise cut through the air—a car alarm blaring to life, then another, then another, echoing through the structure like screams.
Lights flashed.
Footsteps multiplied.
Chaos bloomed.
Rowan grabbed her hand. "This is distraction. We move—now."
They ran again, bursting back into the rain-soaked night as alarms wailed behind them. Iris's lungs burned, but her mind was terrifyingly clear.
The unseen threat wasn't just watching anymore.
It was shaping the city around them.
Testing reactions.
Applying pressure.
And somewhere between fear and fury, Iris felt something ignite.
Defiance.
She slowed suddenly.
Rowan stumbled to a stop beside her. "Iris—what are you doing?"
She turned, rain streaking her face like war paint. "They think I'll panic. They think I'll fracture."
Her phone buzzed one last time.
Last chance to turn back.
Iris typed back.
No.
The typing bubble appeared.
Then vanished.
The city exhaled.
Lights steadied. Alarms died. The rain softened.
Rowan stared at her, awe and worry colliding in his eyes. "You just crossed a line."
"Yes," Iris said quietly. "And so did they."
Somewhere in the city, unseen eyes narrowed.
The game had shifted.
And for the first time, the threat wasn't just unseen—
It was challenged.