Part 62
(Alex's POV)
The next morning began with the faint hum of her computer booting up.
Alex hadn't slept. Her notebook lay open on the desk, pages filled with neat handwriting—dates, times, fragments of online chatter, and a few names circled twice.
She liked structure. It gave her calm.
Every mark meant a choice, every circle meant possibility.
Now that she knew Adrian had returned, the air felt different—charged, alive. The city itself seemed to bend toward him, even from miles away.
He didn't realize how visible he still was. Not to the crowds, but to someone who understood how patterns moved underneath.
She cross-checked his schedule with older habits: the gym he once preferred, the café where he'd read scripts, the management building where he occasionally met producers.
Her cursor hovered over each location on a digital map.
He won't go back to all of them, she reasoned. But he'll go back to one. The one that still feels safe.
The sun climbed higher, turning her reflection on the screen into a pale ghost.
She stared at it for a moment, tilting her head slightly, as if comparing herself to a memory only she could see.
He looked tired in that clip, she murmured. Maybe I should've—
She stopped herself. That wasn't the point. The point was alignment—timing her reappearance not by impulse, but precision.
If she showed up too soon, he'd close off. Too late, and someone else might reach him first.
Alex closed the laptop and leaned back.
She didn't need to rush. She already knew where he'd be by tonight.
He always goes where the light feels familiar, she thought. And I know his light better than anyone.
She smiled faintly, almost kindly, as if the thought itself was enough.
Then she tore the corner off one page of her notebook, scribbled a single line, and tucked it into her pocket before heading out.
The city awaited—loud, crowded, anonymous.
Perfect for someone who understood how to move unseen.