Chilly air rushes over me, sharper than before, catching the edges of my sleeves and biting at my collarbone. The chai did nothing to warm me. And neither did sitting across from that man in silence.
Across the street, the park glistens in the weak sunlight.
Runners are making their rounds, a group of three women walk quickly, laughing and talking like the world hasn’t cracked open beneath my feet.
At the light, I cross the street, my pace steady—but not relaxed. Each step is deliberate. Each movement measured, my head high so I notice everything, even the shadows.
The locket presses harder against my skin, as if it knows. Not what just happened, but what it could mean. That the stranger saw more than he should have.
As if it registered the weight of his gaze. The way he watched me like he recognized something I thought I’d buried.
I pull out the box for my earbuds and then insert each one.
On my music app, I select my usual binaural beats, then turn the volume almost as low as it will go. There’s a slight noise coming from them, just enough to make people think I’m listening to something. What I’m really doing is discouraging people from interacting with me.
Still, warning prickles between my shoulder blades.
At the edge of the park, I pause to glance back.
There’s no one but early joggers and a dog walker with a mess of tangled leashes.
But up ahead there’s a man wearing a gray hoodie, leaning against a flower shop. He’s focused on his phone screen and nothing else.
My imagination must be playing tricks on me.
But with the interaction at the coffee shop and the way the barista greeted me so warmly, I feel like I’m not invisible anymore.
I look around again. Gray Hoodie Guy is gone.
No one is watching or following.
Everything’s calm…
Too calm.
There’s one thing I know for sure. That’s exactly when things go to hell.
And within thirty seconds, it does.
Chapter Two
Lyra
The path ahead curves gently through the park. The trees arch overhead like silent sentinels. My running shoes hit the pavement in a steady rhythm—left, right, left—each step a reminder to breathe, to keep moving, to outrun whatever ghost that stranger stirred up inside me.
The binaural beats hum faintly in my ears, a white-noise shield against the world, but they do nothing to dull the prickling at the base of my skull.
Too calm.
The words echo in my head. Too calm. Too calm. Too calm.
A shadow detaches from the cluster of trees up ahead—fast, deliberate. Not a jogger. Not a dog walker. A man, bulky, in a plain black zip-up sweatshirt. His hood is shading his face.
The thug lunges straight for me with the precision of a predator who’s been waiting.
My adrenaline surges, hot and electric, sharpening every reflex.
Time seems to slow as I pivot, dropping low, but he’s on me before I can fully dodge.
