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PROLOGUE
Sarah Thompson'ssneakers padded rhythmically against the cracked pavement, the steady cadence asoothing counterpoint to the hum of the city. The evening air was crisp,carrying with it the faint tang of metal and oil that always clung to this partof Dallas. The industrial district was a stark contrast to the lush greenery ofthe more manicured neighborhoods, but Sarah found solace in its quietpredictability.
Here, amongwarehouses and dormant factories, she could run without the cacophony ofblaring horns and chattering pedestrians.
As she rounded afamiliar corner, Sarah's gaze drifted across the street to an old factorybuilding. Its red brick facade was dulled by years of exposure to the elements,and ivy crept up its sides like nature's claim on human abandonment. Despiteits wear, the structure stood with a certain dignified resilience, a silenttestament to the city's past prosperity.
Sarah knew thehistory of this place well. As a child, her grandfather had regaled her withstories of the vibrant assembly lines and intoxicating aroma of cocoa that oncepermeated the air. This was where one of America’s most famous chocolate barshad been crafted—a sweet relic of innovation and industry. Although it had beendecades since the factory had been working, the building still held an iconicplace in the hearts of locals.
Her stride slowedas she noticed a figure standing before the entrance. He was a man of averageheight, clad in a nondescript jacket, staring up at the building with focus. Heseemed utterly absorbed by it, his head tilted slightly as if trying to deciphera secret written in the aged brickwork.
Intrigued by hisintensity, Sarah's pace faltered, and she found herself studying the man asmuch as he scrutinized the building. His hands were buried deep in his pockets,shoulders hunched against the mild evening air, yet there was a sharpness tohis gaze that suggested a purpose beyond shielding himself from the cold. Thesetting sun cast long shadows that danced across his features, adding a layerof mystery to his already enigmatic presence.
She consideredthe possibility that he might be an architect or a historian, someone with aprofessional interest in the imminent fate of the structure. Or perhaps he wassimply another soul drawn to the melancholic beauty of the decaying monument, akindred spirit seeking connection with the echoes of a bygone era.
The notion wasoddly comforting, and for a fleeting moment, Sarah felt a sense of kinship withthe stranger. Here they both were, lone figures converging at the crossroads ofpast and present, each absorbed in their private reflections amidst the quiet giantsof steel and stone.
Sarah's breathformed a steady rhythm, her feet pounding the pavement in time as the last raysof daylight stretched across Dallas. With each stride, she approached the manwho had captured her attention. She could see his outline more clearly now—atall figure cloaked in the dimming light, still as a statue before the agedbuilding. Her heart thudded not just from exertion but from a growing sense ofunease that clung to her like the sweat on her brow.
"Miss,"he called out just as Sarah was about to skirt around him, his voice slicingthrough her focus and the quiet hum of the industrial district.
Startled, sheslowed to a jog, then to a hesitant walk, eyeing the stranger with caution."Yes?" Sarah replied, her voice cautious but polite, maintaining asafe distance.
"Did youknow they're planning to demolish this place?" He gestured toward the oldfactory, eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that punctuated the gravity ofhis words.
Sarah's guardremained up, her mind recalling snippets of city council meetings and communityprotests she'd seen on the news. "I heard something about that," sheanswered, her tone even despite the anxiety that fluttered in her chest like atrapped bird. The historic value of the building wasn't lost on her, yet theman's sudden interest in her awareness felt intrusive, unwelcome.
"Such ashame, isn't it?" he continued, stepping closer. "They're erasinghistory."
"Sometimesprogress requires change," Sarah offered diplomatically, though she didn'tentirely believe her own words. She edged sideways, signaling her intent tomove on.
"Wait!"he urged, desperation creeping into his voice. "Could you help me withsomething?" His hands emerged from his pockets, open and pleading.
Sarah paused,caught between her instinct to flee and the ingrained need to be courteous. Sheglanced at the man's hands, half-expecting to see a flyer or petition for thebuilding's preservation. But they were empty, save for the lines of worryetched into his palms.
"I'msorry," she said, her refusal wrapped in a gentle firmness. "I reallycan't. I have to keep going." She offered him a tight smile, one that shehoped conveyed both apology and finality.
The man'sshoulders slumped ever so slightly, and for a moment, Sarah felt a pang ofguilt for dismissing his request. But the evening was slipping away, and withit, her window for solitude and the solace of her run.
"Goodluck," she added, hoping to soften the rejection as she resumed her pace,leaving the man and the condemned building behind. The encounter left a residueof discomfort, a nagging whisper that she'd somehow failed a test she hadn'tknown she was taking.
Sarah's sneakersthumped against the concrete, a steady drum that drowned out the last traces ofher encounter. The unsettling feeling was ebbing away, replaced by the claritythat always accompanied her runs. She made a mental note to maybe change her routetomorrow—just in case.
She had alwaysprided herself on her awareness, her ability to stay attuned to hersurroundings even as she lost herself in the rhythm of her strides. Buttonight, with the sun dipping below the skyline and casting long shadows acrossthe streets, Sarah found her thoughts drifting, oddly disjointed from thepresent moment. Her mind teased at the edges of something forgotten, a taskleft undone, or perhaps it was just the echo of the man’s voice, tinged with adesperation she couldn’t quite understand.
The warmth of thefading day lingered in the air, heavy against her skin. She savored the slightcoolness that began to settle with the evening, the way her breath formed smallclouds of effort that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. She focused on thesound of her breathing, the inhale and exhale that became the metronome for hermovement, the heartbeat of her solitude.
An unexpectedchill prickled Sarah’s neck, a premonition that skittered down her spineseconds before reality fractured. It was a sensation
—an anomaly inthe cadence of her run—that caught her entirely off guard. A harsh, blunt forcecollided with the back of her head, shattering the illusion of peace andsafety. Pain exploded in a bright white flash, obliterating her senses.
Her bodycrumpled, succumbing to the sudden betrayal of consciousness. The ground rushedup to meet her, but Sarah was distantly aware that she would never feel theimpact. The world was receding at an alarming rate, details smearing into obscurity.Sounds became muffled, the city's heartbeat fading into silence.
Everything wentblack—utterly and completely black. There was no time to process the fear orconfusion, no space for her mind to grapple with the questions that would havesurely flooded in. All that remained in the void was the absence of light, theabsence of sound, the absence of everything that tethered her to the physicalworld.
And then, therewas nothing at all.
CHAPTER ONE
