It starts the same way it always does. A blur of colors. The warmth of the sun pressing against my skin. The faint hum of laughter, distant yet familiar.
Then, clarity.
I stand in a living room I don't recognize-modern, pristine, draped in soft golden light. It feels... lived in. Books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. A warm mug resting by the window. A scent lingers in the air-something sweet, something comforting.
I should know this place.
I do know this place.
My hands move, but they aren't my own. They're steady, unscarred. A gold bracelet glints at my wrist-delicate, untouched by the life I've lived.
And then, the voices.
Soft, affectionate. A man's laughter. A woman's gentle hum as she flips through a book. I hear my own voice-or something like it. But it's not me. It's lighter, filled with something I no longer carry.
Peace.
I turn toward the mirror by the hall, my breath hitching as I see my reflection only it isn't mine.
She looks like me, but there's no darkness in her gaze, no ghosts lurking in the depths of her eyes. Her hair falls in soft waves, untouched by the sharp blade of necessity. She's smiling, oblivious to the storm that should have shaped
her.
A life without scars.
A life without vengeance.
A life that isn't mine.
A pressure builds in my chest, tight and suffocating. I shouldn't be here. This isn't real. It can't be real.
I take a step back. The room darkens at the edges, colors dulling, warmth fading. The books disappear first, vanishing from the table. The mug by the window turns to dust. The scent, once familiar, now reeks of something bitter.
Then, the voices.
They distort, turning sharp, cruel. The man's laughter warps into something cold, detached. The woman's gentle hum fades into silence.
And in the mirror, she-the version of me that never had to claw her way through the dark-watches as a crack splinters down the glass. Her smile falters. Confusion flickers across her face, then fear.
I try to move, but my body is no longer my own. The bracelet on my wrist tightens, biting into my skin. The mirror shatters, shards slicing through the dream like jagged glass.
Somewhere in the distance, someone calls a name. My name.
No—not my name.
But before I can hear it clearly, before I can reach
out—
I wake up.
Cold. Breathless. Drenched in sweat.
I sit up, my pulse hammering as I drag a hand down my face.The room is dark, silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall. My gun is right where I left it, within arm's reach. A habit. A necessity.
Just a dream.
But then my fingers twitch, phantom warmth still lingering at my wrist. I glance down, half-expecting to see the gold bracelet.
Nothing.
I exhale slowly.
I need to get out of my head.
Two weeks.
It's been two weeks since the gala.
Two weeks since I saw him.
Tobi.
His name settle uncomfortably in my mind, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong place. I should've looked into him by now, should've had Mabel strip apart every layer of his existence. Should've had his entire life laid bare before me.
But something—
something I can't name-keeps me from making that call.
It's reckless.
It's not like me.
I don't hesitate. I don't ignore my instincts.
And yet, I haven't so much as run his name through a system.
My jaw tightens as I reach for my phone, dialing the only person I trust with this. The line barely rings twice before Mabel picks up, her voice thick with irritation "If you're calling me at this hour, someone better be dead."
I ignore her. "Did you find anything on him?"
A rustle of sheets. A tired sigh. "Tobi."
I roll my eyes. "No, the damn tooth fairy."
"I thought you said I shouldn't look into him yet"
I did say so
But it doesn't matter
She already did.
That's just how Mabel is.
A beat of silence.Then she sighs again, this time heavier, like she already knew I wouldn't like what she was about to say.
"There's not much. Schools, of course.
Expensive, elite. He had an old social media account from secondary school-barely used, Nothing in business, no records worth mentioning."
Normal.
That's the problem.
A man like him, who carried himself like he knew more than he should.
who looked at me like he saw through me-shouldn't be this ordinary.
My fingers curling against the sheets. Does it matter?
No.
I have bigger things to focus on.
"It doesn't matter," I say, voice even.
Mabel hesitates. "Maya-"
"Leave it alone."
Another pause. Then, "Fine."
The line went dead.
I toss the phone aside, exhaling slowly.
This was the right call. There was no reason to waste time on him.
So why did it feel like I just ignored something important?