The apartment door clicked shut behind me. City noise swallowed the quiet of the hallway— distant horns, the low rumble of a delivery truck, footsteps echoing off concrete. I pulled my jacket tighter against the morning chill and started down the steps.
Just another Monday. Work waited. Angry callers waited. But the memory of Kira's laugh and the warmth of her lips lingered, making the day feel a little less gray.
I stepped onto the sidewalk. People moved in hurried streams — suits with coffee cups, joggers dodging pedestrians, a bike messenger weaving through the crowd like he owned the street. I joined the flow, mind already drifting to the inbox that would be waiting.
Half a block later, someone crashed straight into my shoulder.
A soft yelp. A flash of red hair. Balance lost.
I reached out on instinct. "Whoa — you okay?"
The girl recovered mid-stumble, she caught herself quickly, landing on the pavement as though she had practiced that recovery countless times. Two quick steps and she stood steady beside me, as if nothing had happened.
She looked up. Freckles dusted her cheeks. Eyes bright and a little startled.
"Yeah, sure. Sorry — I was distracted."
"No worries. I wasn't exactly watching where I was going either." I tilted my head. "Nice save, though. That almost looked like a dance move."
A small smile tugged at her mouth. "Dancing does come with benefits."
Something about the way she said it — light, almost guarded — made me pause.
"So you dance? What kind?"
"Ballet. For years now. Just… private. I love the practice, the movement. No audiences."
She shifted her weight, already glancing toward the direction she'd been running. "Anyway, I need to go. Thanks for trying to catch me. And sorry again for running into you."
"Don't mention it."
I hesitated half a second. "By the way, my name's Raine," I said. "Guess we've officially been introduced now."
"Nice to meet you."
She blinked, then smiled wider. "Freya. Nice to meet you too, Raine. Have a good day."
"You too."
She turned and disappeared into the crowd — quick, light steps that carried her out of sight in moments.
I stood there a beat longer. Freya. The name fit her somehow — graceful, a little untouchable.
Shaking it off, I headed toward the subway station. The platform was half-empty for a Monday. A few people scrolled phones or stared at the tracks. I found a bench and sat, mind replaying the collision. Her quick recovery. The way she'd said "private."
The train rolled in with a metallic sigh. Doors hissed open. I stepped inside. Seats were available — rare luck. I dropped into one near the window.
Across the aisle, a woman sat alone. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. She glanced up as if she felt my attention, met my gaze for a single heartbeat, then looked away.
A brief sense of recognition tugged at the back of my mind, though I couldn't place where it came from.
The speakers crackled. "Next stop: 12th Street."
She stood smoothly, bag over one shoulder, and exited when the doors opened. Gone before I could place the feeling.
I leaned back against the seat. Weird morning.
The train lurched forward again. Buildings blurred past the window — glass towers, brick walk-ups, the endless pulse of the city. My stop came soon enough.
A short walk from the station brought me to the office building. Glass doors reflected the morning sky. I pushed through.
The lobby smelled of coffee and floor polish. Elevator dinged. I stepped inside with a handful of others — all staring at phones or the ceiling, same Monday trance.
Floor twelve. Claims department. My desk waited like an old enemy.
I dropped into the chair. Computer hummed awake. Emails already piled up overnight the inbox was already filled with frustrated messages and new problems waiting to be handled.
First caller of the day came through almost immediately.
A man's voice exploded from the headset. "I HAD A CAR CRASH AND I WANT YOU TO PAY FOR THE DAMAGE!"
I kept my tone even. "Sir, as I explained, the accident isn't covered under your policy."
"NO BUTS! CAR. CRASH. INSURANCE. MONEY. EASY."
"According to the police report, you were extremely intoxicated when you drove through your own closed garage door."
"I HAD ONE BEER."
"The blood alcohol level says closer to ten."
"YOU LITTLE—"
I let him vent. Eventually the line went dead.
I exhaled hard. "God. Some people."
A familiar voice came from behind me. "Rough day already?"
I turned. Eliana leaned against the cubicle wall, arms crossed, small smile playing on her lips. Business outfit today — sharp blazer, skirt that made the IT basement seem a long way away.
"Hey, Eliana," I said. "Just another chaotic morning in claims."
She laughed quietly. "Boss sent me up to check if claims is slacking again. Found you staring at the ceiling instead."
"Nice one." I leaned back. "What do you need?"
"Nothing. Just had a meeting on this floor. Important one. Hence the outfit."
"You clean up nice. They actually listen when you dress like that?"
"Sometimes. Mostly they still try to explain data warehouses to me like I haven't built three of them."
She rolled her eyes, then focused on me again. "How about coffee and lunch later? That place around the corner.
The offer hung there — casual, easy.
I nodded. "Sure. Sounds good."
Her smile widened. "Meet me at noon? Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She pushed off the wall. "See you then."
I watched her head down the hallway, her steps steady while the overhead lights glimmered faintly through her hair. Something about the morning felt… lighter.
Back to the screen. More emails. More calls.
But noon was coming.
And for once, the day didn't feel entirely gray.