Amara couldn't shake the feeling that had settled over her since the encounter in the city square. The man's warning played on repeat in her mind *"You need to be careful. There are people watching you."* She replayed the moment over and over, hoping it would make sense, but all it left her with was an unsettling weight in her chest.
By the time she reached the café where she worked part-time, she was soaked to the bone, her damp clothes clinging to her skin. The warm aroma of espresso and pastries usually brought comfort, but today it barely touched her anxiety.
"Rough day already?" Lena, her co-worker and closest friend, asked as she handed Amara a towel.
"You have no idea," Amara muttered, drying her hair as best she could.
She debated telling Lena about the man about his eyes, the urgency in his voice, the way he disappeared like a ghost. But how could she explain it without sounding insane?
By the end of her shift, Amara still hadn't made sense of it. Her instincts told her to forget it, pretend nothing had happened. But her heart whispered otherwise.
That night, she took a detour through the same square, standing in the exact spot they collided. The rain had long stopped, leaving the cobblestones glistening under the streetlights. A strange sensation tingled at the back of her neck like she was being watched.
She turned sharply, but the square was empty. Still, the feeling lingered. She pulled her coat tighter and hurried home.
Elsewhere in the city, Darius stood on the rooftop of a sleek, glass-covered building. Below him, the world moved on oblivious to the games of power, secrets, and revenge being played above their heads. His phone buzzed. A text appeared from an unknown number.
*"She went back to the square. She's curious. You were right."*
Darius cursed under his breath. He had hoped Amara would dismiss their encounter and stay safe. But now, her involvement was almost inevitable.
He stared at the skyline. Somewhere out there, the ghosts of his past were stirring and Amara had stepped into the center of it all.
"She deserves the truth," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "But not yet."
Back in her apartment, Amara sat on her bed, books open but unread. Her thoughts spun in circles, drawn back again and again to the man's face, his voice, his warning.
What secret had she stepped into?
And why did it feel like her life once so predictable was about to change forever?