The sky above City Z was painted a dull, threatening gray, the kind that promised rainstorms stretching well into the night. People hurried across streets, umbrellas popping open as the first drops fell. The air smelled of wet concrete and anticipation, a strange kind of energy that Lily Martinez couldn't shake as she dashed down the sidewalk, portfolio clutched under her arm.
She cursed under her breath. She was late.
Again.
It was supposed to be an important day, the kind that could change everything for her career. A small art gallery had finally agreed to look at her work, and she'd spent the last few nights perfecting every stroke, preparing every answer in case she was asked to explain her paintings. But just as she'd reached the gallery, a message popped up on her phone.
"Meeting canceled. Something came up. Maybe next time."
Maybe next time. Lily knew that was code for never.
Her throat tightened with frustration as the rain started to come down harder. Her boots splashed into a puddle, sending cold water seeping through the thin leather. Great, because what could make this day any worse than rejection and soggy socks?
With nowhere else to go, she darted into a nearby café on the corner of 7th Street, shivering as the warmth hit her. She found an empty seat by the window, shaking the water from her hair. Her soaked portfolio lay lifelessly beside her, like a symbol of another missed opportunity.
She pulled out her phone again, tempted to scroll through social media for some kind of distraction. But before she could tap the screen, a strange sensation washed over her, like the moment before lightning strikes. A chill ran down her spine, sharp and sudden, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.
She wasn't alone.
Lily looked up, and that was when she saw him.
A man stood by the entrance, brushing water off his black trench coat. He was tall, with the kind of sharp, chiseled face that looked like it belonged in a magazine ad. His dark hair fell just above his brows, damp from the rain, and his storm-gray eyes scanned the café with quiet intensity. The moment those eyes landed on Lily, she felt her breath hitch in her throat.
He moved toward her with a confidence that was both unsettling and magnetic, as if he knew exactly what he wanted. The stranger stopped at her table and tilted his head, studying her with an unreadable expression.
"Lily Martinez," he said, his voice smooth, low, and oddly familiar.
Her heart skipped a beat. How did he know her name?
"Do I know you?" she asked, frowning. She searched her memory, trying to place him, but there was nothing. She would have remembered a man like him.
He gave her a small, cryptic smile. "Not yet."
Before she could respond, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. His presence was overwhelming, like he took up more space than his body should, his aura pressing into hers in a way that made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. And oddly intrigued.
"I don't usually let strangers sit with me," Lily said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"You'll make an exception," he replied smoothly, like he already knew the answer.
There was something about him, something unsettling. Like he knew things he shouldn't. She glanced at the café's entrance, wondering if she should leave, but the thought of walking back into the storm made her stay.
"What do you want?" she asked, folding her arms.
The man leaned forward slightly, his intense gaze never leaving hers. "To warn you."
Lily blinked. "Warn me? About what?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the table. His movements were precise, deliberate, like every second of his life was measured.
Tristan King.
The name was simple, but it carried weight, like it belonged to someone important. Someone dangerous.
Lily stared at the card for a moment, her mind racing. She'd never heard of Tristan King before. There was no reason for him to know her. And yet, the way he looked at her made it feel like they'd known each other for a lifetime.
She hesitated, then asked, "Who are you?"
His lips curled into the faintest smirk. "The better question is: who are you to me?"
Lily's pulse quickened. What kind of answer was that? Before she could demand an explanation, Tristan stood, sliding his umbrella back into his hand.
"We'll meet again, Lily," he said with unsettling certainty. "Sooner than you think."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, his coat trailing behind him as he disappeared into the rainy streets of City Z.
Lily sat frozen for a long moment, her mind spinning with questions. What the hell had just happened?
Her phone buzzed on the table, snapping her back to reality. She picked it up, frowning at the message on the screen.
Unknown Number: You shouldn't have let him leave.
Her heart raced. She looked out the window, but Tristan was already gone, swallowed by the rain. The café suddenly felt too warm, too small, as if the walls were closing in.
She tapped a quick response.
Lily: "Who is this?"
Three dots appeared on the screen, indicating a reply was being typed. Her fingers trembled as she watched them blink, waiting for an answer that never came. The dots stopped. The screen went blank.
Lily's pulse thundered in her ears. What was happening? Who was Tristan King, and how did he know her? And more importantly, why did she feel like she'd just stepped into the middle of a game she didn't even know she was playing?
In the days that followed, Lily tried to forget the encounter. She told herself it was just a weird coincidence, a strange man with a strange agenda. But as the rain continued to fall over City Z, and the shadows lengthened over her life, she realized one thing.
She hadn't seen the last of Tristan King.
And whatever game he was playing, she was already a part of it. Whether she liked it or not.