I walked slowly through the deserted streets of the city, my footsteps almost inaudible on the damp cobblestones. The night had fallen a few hours ago, a light fog enveloping the buildings like a spectral veil. My thoughts mingled with the darkness surrounding me. The air was cool, almost icy, but I didn't feel the cold. It had been too long since I had wandered aimlessly, whether through the city or my own mind.

I stopped in front of an old bookstore, the metal letters of the sign almost worn away by time. The place had a quiet charm, a bit moribund, as if the years had slowly swallowed it whole, but that didn't bother me. I came here often, finding the solitude I needed. I opened the door with a sinister creak and stepped into the darkness inside. The smell of old paper and dusty wood overwhelmed me. The shelves were filled with neglected books, rare and thick volumes that seemed never to have been touched. It was here, among these forgotten pages, that I felt most alive.

I made my way to my favorite section, the classic novels, when my eyes fell on a book I had never noticed before. A small black volume, almost too plain to attract attention, but its title, Shadows of the Past, sent a jolt through me. I grabbed it almost instinctively, my trembling fingers brushing the cover.

There was something intriguing, something sinister about the title, something that seemed to resonate with the darkness buried deep within my own heart. I opened it without hesitation and lost myself in the first lines, plunging into a world of words that, strangely, touched me more deeply than I could have imagined. The narrator of this book seemed to know exactly what I was feeling, that inner emptiness, that weight on the soul. Every sentence seemed written for me. Every word reflected my own demons.

The moment I closed the book, almost as a reflex, I felt a presence behind me. A slight shiver ran down my spine, an unease I couldn't explain. I slowly turned around, my eyes locking onto a figure standing at the entrance of the bookstore. A man, tall, with a piercing gaze, dressed in a dark suit that contrasted with the intimate atmosphere of the place. He was nothing unusual, but something in his eyes, an intensity I couldn't describe, made me feel... watched.

He stepped towards me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he already knew everything about me. "This book... does it seem familiar to you?"

Surprised that he even knew which book I was holding, I blinked and nodded slowly. "I... I don't know. It... drew me in."

The man made a vague gesture, as if he didn't care much about the question. "Sometimes, books find us before we even search for them. They reveal truths about ourselves that we didn't know."

His words, heavy with unspoken meanings, unsettled me. I felt inexplicably connected to him, as though an invisible force had tied us together, at that precise moment. But who was this man? How could he know that this book had caught my attention before I even knew it?

"My name is Damien," he said, his voice deep and calm. "And you are... Élise, aren't you?"

I jolted slightly. How could he know my name? "Yes," I replied, suspicion growing in my voice. "But... how... do you know my name?"

Damien didn't respond immediately. He took a step closer, as if measuring every movement he made, every word he spoke. "I think we have a lot to discuss. This book, what you're feeling... it's no coincidence."

My heart began to race in my chest. Every fiber of my being screamed for me to run, but something in the depth of his gaze held me back. "I... I don't understand."

He stopped right in front of me, his eyes locked onto mine. "You'll understand soon, Élise. Both of us have a past we would rather forget, but the shadows... the shadows always catch up with us."

An unbearable tension wove itself around us, and despite the apparent simplicity of the encounter, I knew that this moment marked a turning point. A point of no return in my life. But for now, all I could do was nod and follow him. My instinct told me I had no choice.

"I'll be waiting for you at the gallery," Damien added before turning away, his step light but determined. "You'll come, won't you?"

I didn't even have time to respond before he had disappeared into the shadow of the street. I stood there, frozen, the book still in my hands, my gaze locked on the page, which now seemed suddenly more ominous. The words echoed in my mind like a warning.

I already knew what I was going to do. I would follow him.

I had no choice.