As the clock struck midnight, Kismet was the first to break the silence. Tomorrow is a big day, and we both need to rest.
Mark nodded, suddenly feeling tired. The last few days had gone by like a fast train, and now that they had stopped, he felt like he was thrown onto the platform of reality.
They silently gathered up the documents scattered on the table. Kismet carefully packed everything into her ever – present black leather bag, and Mark found himself getting used to her gesture-methodical, almost ritualistic-over the past few days.
They left the building together. The night air was cool and crisp, filled with the smell of recent rain.
"See you tomorrow," Kismet said as they reached the intersection where their paths diverged. The light from the streetlamp fell on her face at an odd angle, creating a bizarre play of shadows. "I'll meet you here at six o'clock tonight." And, Mark "- she hesitated for a moment, which wasn't her usual confidence — " thank you." For all of this.
Her hand brushed his shoulder lightly — a fleeting touch that might have been accidental, but it could have meant so much more. Before Mark could say anything, Kismet disappeared into the night like a ghost, leaving only that faint scent of the elusive pre-storm air. It all felt surreal, like one of those thrilling stories he was used to writing about, but he'd never expected to be in the middle of one.
Left alone, Mark slowly wandered home, feeling a strange feeling inside. The city around him was living its usual night life: traffic lights were flashing, cars were making noise, their headlights cutting through the darkness like the beams of a lighthouse, and somewhere in the distance music was playing, coming in snatches of melodies.
In his apartment, he immediately sat down at the computer, opening a blank document. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Words usually came easily — his years as a journalist had taught him to formulate his thoughts quickly. But right now, my mind was in chaos.
What does it do? What have you gotten yourself into? This morning, he was just another journalist whose biggest gamble was trying to get an exclusive interview. And now he's getting ready to sneak into a private ball to..... to do what? Steal an ancient relic? Uncover a secret that could change the world? Save the world?
And Kismet... Who is she? Why did you show up right now? Why did you choose it? I remembered her face, the way she had talked about the locket with such passion, with such knowledge of the subject. There was something inexplicably compelling about her, something that made it hard to just dismiss the whole thing as someone's stupid joke.
He went to the window. The city below shimmered with lights like a scattering of jewels on the black velvet of the night. Somewhere out there, among those lights, was her. Was she preparing for tomorrow now, just like he was? Or maybe she's meeting mysterious people she hasn't told him anything about?
Mark sighed, feeling fatigue and doubt weigh heavily on him. Tomorrow... Tomorrow everything will change.
With these thoughts in mind, he went to bed. Sleep lingered for a long time, and when it finally came, it brought with it strange visions: ballrooms where dancers whirled to silent music, labyrinthine mirrors that reflected thousands of Kismet's faces, and ancient maps that came to life under her fingers.