That night, lying awake in my small room, the memories blurred together: his pale eyes, the silent man behind him, the stranger across the street.
I tried to focus on tomorrow—maybe getting a trial shift at the café, maybe finding a second job—but the city outside my window no longer felt as friendly.
Something was changing. I couldn't see it clearly, but I could feel it—like a storm building far off, silent for now, but inevitable.
The next morning, I woke early to bring my resume back to the café manager. The weather had turned colder overnight, and a steady drizzle made the sidewalks slick.
When I left the café, someone was standing across the street, half-hidden under an awning—a man, broad-shouldered, in a dark coat. He wasn't staring directly at me, but somehow, I felt watched.
I told myself it was nothing. New York was full of men in dark coats. But as I walked away, my skin prickled, and every step felt heavier.
Nikolai pov
Across the city, in a dimly lit office, Nikolai listened as Viktor spoke.
"She noticed you," Viktor said quietly. "And someone else noticed her."
Nikolai's jaw tightened. "Who?"
"A man from the Morozov crew. Saw him watching her today."
For a moment, Nikolai said nothing. Then he spoke, voice low. "She doesn't belong in this world."
"And yet, boss," Viktor murmured, "sometimes the world chooses for us."
Nikolai's pale eyes flickered with something dark. "Keep an eye on her. Discreetly."
Viktor nodded. "And if they try something?"
A pause. Then, cold as ice: "Then they'll learn what happens when you threaten what's mine."
Amara pov
The next morning, I woke early to bring my resume back to the café manager. The weather had turned colder overnight, and a steady drizzle made the sidewalks slick.
When I left the café, someone was standing across the street, half-hidden under an awning—a man, broad-shouldered, in a dark coat. He wasn't staring directly at me, but somehow, I felt watched.
I told myself it was nothing. New York was full of men in dark coats. But as I walked away, my skin prickled, and every step felt heavier.
The next morning felt like a small victory. The café manager finally offered me a trial shift for the afternoon. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make me lace my worn sneakers with hope instead of fear.
By noon, I was behind the counter learning how to steam milk and memorize regulars' orders. My mind kept drifting back to the man in the black coat—and the other man who had watched me across the street. But every time I caught myself thinking of them, I forced my focus back to the coffee cups and the clink of coins in the tip jar.
Around three o'clock, the door chimed and a man walked in. Not him—this one was different. Shorter, bulkier, with sharp eyes that felt like they peeled away layers you didn't know you wore.
He ordered an espresso, but his gaze never really left me. I tried to hide my unease behind a polite smile, but my heart pounded loud enough I was sure he could hear it.
When he left, his eyes swept the room once more—resting briefly on a corner seat where an older man pretended to read a newspaper. The air felt heavy, like the moment before thunder breaks.
After my shift, I stepped outside into the dusk. The sidewalks glowed under neon signs and taxi headlights. I told myself I'd walk straight home, but a restless pull in my chest made me take a longer route.
And there, across the street again, stood that older man with the newspaper—only this time, he wasn't even pretending to read.
His gaze found mine, calm and unhurried. Then, as if on cue, he folded the paper, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
I stood frozen, breath catching in my throat. Why me? I thought. I'm no one here.
But part of me remembered those pale eyes in the café, and a strange question rose unbidden: Could this be connected to him?
Back in my room, the wind rattled the window. I hugged my pillow tight, trying to convince myself tomorrow would feel normal again.
But somewhere deep inside, I knew:
The city was beginning to notice me.
And even if I didn't understand why… someone had already decided I mattered.
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, the city's hum vibrating through the walls. My phone buzzed with a voice note from Eniola.
"Babe, promise me you'll be careful, okay? Don't trust anyone too quickly."
I typed back: "I promise. It's probably nothing anyway."
But even as I wrote it, I didn't fully believe myself.