The Manhattan sky was still shrouded in a gray-blue haze at 5 AM. As Claire Lin jogged across the Brooklyn Bridge, the New York Times' morning financial report played through her earphones. The early spring air was crisp enough to turn her breaths into small clouds, but she maintained her pace, her ponytail swinging rhythmically behind her.
"...Tech sector down 3% overall, with multiple Silicon Valley startup CEOs announcing their resignations. Market analysts suggest this could indicate a larger trend in the industry..."
She slowed her pace and pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen's blue light harsh against the pre-dawn darkness. The display showed over a dozen unread messages, mostly from her headhunting firm's client group. As the youngest partner at WealthHunter, she was currently managing three executive recruitment projects, including a confidential CEO search that could make or break her career.
Claire had always prided herself on her instincts—it was what made her exceptional at her job. She could read people, sense their motivations, know exactly when to push and when to pull back. But lately, those instincts had been... different. More intense. Almost frightening.
Suddenly, an icy chill ran up her spine, like fingers of frost trailing along each vertebra. Claire stopped, gripping the railing as she took a deep breath. The metal was cold under her palms, sending another shiver through her body. This was the third time this week she'd experienced this strange sensation.
"Probably just fatigue," she shook her head and continued running, though her heart wasn't in it anymore. The feeling persisted, like invisible eyes boring into her back. She found herself glancing over her shoulder, but the bridge was nearly empty, save for a few other early morning runners and cyclists.
Halfway across the bridge, where the Manhattan skyline loomed largest, a man in a black trench coat brushed past her. In that instant, her temples throbbed violently, and fragmentary images flashed before her eyes—fire, screams, collapsing buildings. She saw a woman in a red dress trapped beneath a desk, smoke filling her lungs. A security guard frantically trying to open a jammed door. A familiar office building wrapped in flames.
"Miss, are you alright?" The voice seemed to come from far away, though its owner was right beside her.
Claire realized she had somehow crouched down, her forehead covered in cold sweat. The man in black was leaning over her, his face partially hidden by the pre-dawn shadows. But his eyes—they seemed to glow with an inner light, searching her face with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
"I'm fine, probably just low blood sugar," she managed a professional smile and stood up, smoothing her running pants with trembling hands. Years of client meetings had taught her how to maintain composure, even when everything felt wrong.
The man remained silent, giving her a meaningful look before turning away. His coat tails fluttered in the morning breeze, revealing something attached to his waist—something that gleamed with a dull bronze light, covered in symbols she somehow recognized but couldn't read.
It was already 6:30 when she returned to her apartment in the glass-and-steel high-rise on the Upper East Side. The doorman nodded to her with familiar courtesy, though she caught him frowning slightly as she passed. Did she look as shaken as she felt?
Claire took a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away the morning's strangeness. She changed into a sharp gray suit from her meticulously organized closet, applying makeup with practiced precision. The woman in the mirror looked polished and sophisticated—no one would guess she'd just experienced something so bizarre. No one would know that beneath her Cartier watch, her skin still tingled where she'd seen those unreadable symbols.
"Ding!" Her phone chimed with a message, making her jump slightly. She was starting to hate how jumpy she'd become.
"Claire, there's a situation with the tech park CEO recruitment. The target company wants to move up the interview. Nine AM today, you must attend. The board is restless." It was from David, her fellow partner, and usually a stickler for proper timing. Something must be wrong for him to accept such a sudden schedule change.
Claire frowned; the interviews weren't supposed to start until next week. She quickly replied: "Got it, preparing the materials now." But her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Should she mention her strange vision of the building in flames? No—that would be professional suicide.
Before leaving, she habitually checked her security system, a top-of-the-line setup she'd had installed after making partner. The display showed everything was normal: no unauthorized entries, all windows secure, cameras functional. But something felt off. It was as if... as if someone had touched her things. Her files seemed slightly out of order, though she couldn't say exactly how. The air held a faint scent she didn't recognize—something ancient, like old books and incense.
"Stop being paranoid," she shook her head and grabbed her briefcase, checking its contents one more time. The CEO candidate profiles were all there, along with her carefully prepared interview questions. Everything was perfect, organized, controlled—just as she liked it.
In the elevator, Claire reviewed the interview materials, trying to focus on normal, rational things. This was a billion-dollar AI company searching for new leadership, their current CEO mysteriously stepping down after a decade of success. The candidates were all impressive on paper, but something about the whole situation nagged at her.
Just then, she felt that sensation of being watched again, stronger than ever. The elevator's mirrored walls seemed to ripple like water, and in their warped surface, she caught a glimpse of a blurry figure standing right behind her—tall, ancient-looking, wearing robes that seemed to move on their own. Claire spun around, her heart pounding, but found only empty air. The scent of incense, the same she'd noticed in her apartment, lingered briefly before disappearing.
"I definitely need coffee," she chuckled self-deprecatingly as she hurried out of the elevator, her heels clicking rapidly on the marble floor. The sound echoed strangely, almost like footsteps following her.
The sun was fully up by the time she reached Chinatown, its rays painting the narrow streets in shades of gold. Street vendors were setting up their stands, the air filled with the scent of fresh produce and morning dew. Uncle Zhang's noodle shop had just opened, the rich aroma of beef noodle soup wafting out and mixing with the steam rising from the sidewalk grates.
"Hey kid, want a bowl?" Zhang's booming voice carried from afar. He was wiping down tables with practiced efficiency, his movements oddly graceful for such a stocky man. "You look like you could use some food. Been seeing things again?"
Claire nearly stopped in her tracks. What did he mean, 'again'? But before she could ask, she noticed Dr. Chen's clinic across the street was already open—unusual for this hour. The old wooden sign above the door swayed slightly, though there was no wind, the Chinese characters seeming to shift and change when she wasn't looking directly at them.
The clinic's old-fashioned bell suddenly rang, its clear tone cutting through the morning bustle. A dark figure flashed by the frosted glass windows, too fast to be natural. Claire thought she saw movement in the second-floor window—a shadow that seemed to watch her with glowing eyes similar to the man on the bridge. But when she looked again, all was still, the building appearing perfectly ordinary in the morning light.
Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. Unknown number, but the digits seemed to swim and rearrange themselves on the screen.
"Miss Lin, about your mother..." The voice was elderly, feminine, with an accent she couldn't place. Something between Chinese and something much, much older.
Claire froze mid-step, causing a businessman to swerve around her with an annoyed grunt. She was an orphan who knew nothing about her parents, had long ago given up searching. "Who is this?"
The other end was silent for a few seconds, filled with a strange static that sounded almost like whispered words. Then a sudden burst of noise—like a thousand voices speaking at once—before cutting to a dial tone. When she tried to call back, the number had vanished from her call history, as if it had never existed.
On the subway heading to the interview, Claire's heart was still racing. Everything this morning had been too strange, too connected to be coincidence. But she couldn't dwell on it now—the nine o'clock interview was her priority. She was a professional, after all. Strange visions and mysterious phone calls would have to wait.
The subway car sped through tunnels, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Passengers came and went, all avoiding the empty seat next to her though the car was crowded. No one seemed to notice the ancient birthmark on her wrist, now glowing with a faint amber light beneath her watch.
Nor did anyone know that just two blocks from her destination, in a gleaming office building she passed every day, a fire was about to break out—one that would match her vision down to the last detail, right down to the woman in the red dress and the jammed door.
And the man in the black coat who had passed her on Brooklyn Bridge was now standing on top of a neighboring building, watching it all unfold. At his waist, the bronze object pulsed with the same light as Claire's birthmark.
"Finally found you, the one from the prophecy," he whispered, his words carried away by the wind. "The question is—will you survive what comes next?"
He pulled out an ancient phone, its surface covered in the same unreadable symbols Claire had noticed earlier. "She's awakening," he spoke into it. "Gather the others. The hunt begins."
In her subway seat, Claire shivered, though the car was warm. She checked her watch—8:45 AM. Just enough time to grab coffee before the interview.
She had no way of knowing that by 9:15, her carefully ordered world would burst into flames—literally.