Part 65
(Adrian's POV)
The city felt smaller than he remembered.
Every street he turned down seemed to fold back into another he already knew. Every face blurred into something half-familiar.
He told himself it was exhaustion. Nerves. The city hadn't changed — he had.
Still, the feeling wouldn't leave.
That faint pressure in the air, like walking just ahead of a storm.
He slowed when he reached the bridge. The water below moved sluggishly, a sheet of reflected light. Cars passed behind him, their tires whispering against the asphalt.
He leaned on the railing, phone in his hand, pretending to scroll — but he wasn't reading anything.
He was listening.
Footsteps behind him.
Soft. Even. Not close enough to be a threat, but close enough to echo in rhythm with his.
He turned slightly. The street was busy, full of ordinary people — a woman with grocery bags, a man arguing on a call, a group of students laughing as they crossed.
Normal.
But the back of his neck prickled anyway.
He told himself to breathe. To stay calm.
You're just being careful, he reminded himself again. You learned this. You know the signs.
The footsteps stopped when he did.
He waited a few seconds longer, then crossed the street, cutting through a narrow side path that led toward the park.
If someone was behind him, they'd have to follow.
Halfway down the path, a child's ball rolled past him — bright red, bouncing out of nowhere — and the spell broke for a moment. He bent down, tossed it back to its owner, and tried to smile.
The park was quieter. The light turned gold as the sun began to fall.
But even here, with the open air and trees, something stayed with him — that faint sense of being seen.
He sat on a bench, forced himself to look around, steady and deliberate.
No one looked back.
And yet…
when a breeze passed, carrying the faint scent of flowers, his chest tightened.
He didn't know why — but something about that scent felt like a memory trying to wake up.