Nora traced the rim of her coffee cup, studying Sunny. He sat across from her, completely at ease, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips. He was impossible to pin down.
"You never answered my question," she said.
"Which one?"
"Where you're from."
Sunny tilted his head. "Does it matter?"
She exhaled. "It does if you keep showing up."
"Maybe I like seeing you."
That threw her off for a second. "Why?"
He shrugged. "You're interesting."
She narrowed her eyes. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Frustrating. He was deliberately vague, yet something about him made her feel like he knew more than he should. Was she imagining it?
Lily set a fresh cup of coffee in front of Sunny, her expression playful as she glanced between the two of them.
"Are you two flirting, or is this just how you talk?" she asked, her French accent curling around her words.
Nora sighed, rolling her eyes. "We're talking."
"Ah, but talking can be très intime, non?" Lily smirked before turning her gaze to Sunny. "And you, monsieur mystérieux, what exactly do you do besides make Nora uncomfortable with your vague answers?"
Sunny took a slow sip of his coffee, amused. "I exist."
Lily scoffed. "Ah, such a grand purpose in life." She leaned in slightly, her voice light but laced with meaning. "But things that linger too long tend to leave a mark, no?"
Nora frowned at the remark, sensing something beneath Lily's words. Sunny only chuckled, unbothered.
Lily straightened, brushing imaginary dust off her apron. "Well, enjoy your existential musings, lovebirds." She winked at Nora before heading back behind the counter.
Nora exhaled, glancing at Sunny. "What was that about?"
He smirked but didn't answer.
Nora tapped her fingers against her cup, her patience unraveling thread by thread. She had been watching Sunny closely, studying every twitch of his expression, every flicker in his gaze—searching for something, anything that would crack his carefully crafted demeanor.
But he remained maddeningly unreadable.
His smirk deepened as he took another slow sip of his coffee, as if savoring both the drink and her growing frustration.
"You're frustrating," she muttered, narrowing her eyes.
"So I've been told," he replied, the words dripping with amusement.
Nora exhaled sharply, leaning back. Lily's voice echoed in her mind—"Things that linger too long tend to leave a mark." She didn't know why that sentence refused to fade. Maybe because it felt deliberate. Maybe because, just like Sunny, Lily seemed to know more than she let on.
She glanced at him again, searching for any shift in his posture, any hint that she had caught him slipping. But he remained infuriatingly relaxed, spinning his spoon between his fingers like this was all just a game.
And maybe it was.
Maybe he was playing. Maybe they both were.
Still, she wasn't done.
Nora straightened, slipping on her coat in one smooth motion. Her eyes never left his.
"Maybe we should continue this conversation another time."
Sunny raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Another interrogation?"
"Something like that," she said, voice even, gaze unyielding.
For a moment, he simply watched her, as if weighing the possibilities. Then, with a slow, knowing nod, he set his cup down and met her stare with equal intensity.
"I have an idea of where we can go next," he murmured, voice lower this time. "Somewhere more... interesting."
A chill brushed her skin, but she ignored it.
She had started this game and she wasn't about to walk away now.
The way he said it made her stomach tighten—not out of fear, but something close to curiosity mixed with unease. But she needed answers, and if he had even the slightest connection to the letters, she had to keep this going.
"Fine," she said. "Text me the details."
Sunny chuckled. "You'll hear from me."
With that, they stepped out into the cool London evening. Their paths diverged, but even as she walked away, Nora couldn't shake the feeling that she was being pulled deeper into something she wasn't entirely ready for.
The streets were quieter now, the rush of the city dimming as the night settled in. Nora kept her hands tucked in her coat pockets, her mind replaying the conversation.
She had gotten nothing solid—Sunny remained just as vague and teasing as before. Yet, something about him felt like he knew more than he was letting on. Was it just his personality, or was there really something beneath the surface?
Her thoughts kept circling the same questions.
Was he the writer? Was he playing games? Or was he just some random guy who had gotten caught up in her paranoia?
And then there was Lily. Her remark about things that linger… had she been talking about Sunny specifically, or something—or someone—else?
Nora turned onto her street, her pace deliberately slower than usual. The city lights cast long shadows, stretching and shifting as she moved, but tonight, she didn't rush to get home.
She needed to shake off the frustration of getting nothing—no real answers, no solid clues. And yet, despite that, something about her time with Sunny lingered in her mind.
It wasn't just his evasiveness. It was him. The way he carried himself—so effortlessly, as if nothing fazed him. He didn't just avoid her questions; he made it feel like there was no need to ask them in the first place. He was amused, unbothered, and strangely… magnetic.
She wasn't supposed to be thinking about that. She should be dissecting every word he said, looking for connections. Instead, she found herself drawn to the way he spoke, the ease in his smirks, the way he seemed genuinely entertained by her presence.
Her mind kept circling that thought as she reached her doorstep. It wasn't until she glanced down that her focus abruptly shifted.
Right there, on her doormat, lay an envelope.
A breath hitched in her throat.
"Another one?" she whispered to herself.
She exhaled, frustration mixing with something deeper—something she couldn't quite name. Intrigue? Fatigue? Or was it fear, curling around the edges of her mind like a whisper she didn't want to acknowledge?
The game was interesting, but wasn't this getting to be a little too much?
Still, despite the unease creeping up her spine, she bent down, picked up the envelope, and slipped her finger beneath the flap, already bracing herself for what would come next.
Nora unfolded the letter carefully, her pulse deceptively steady while her mind raced ahead.
"Some things never truly get lost. They linger, waiting to be found again. You might have forgotten, but I didn't."
Her brows furrowed. The words sent a ripple of unease through her, but it wasn't until she tilted the envelope and something small and metallic slipped into her palm that her stomach truly clenched.
A necklace.
The cool metal felt unnervingly familiar, as if her skin already knew its weight, its shape. Her fingers traced the delicate pendant, hesitant, searching—until her eyes landed on the engraving.
Her breath caught.
A single, ornate E sat at the center, bold and unmistakable. But it wasn't just the initial. Around the letter, written in elegant Catholic script, was a name she knew too well.
Emerald.
Everything inside her recoiled.
This was Emerald's necklace. The one she had lost years ago. The one she had raged over, convinced someone had stolen it.
Nora could still see it—the way Emerald had paced through the halls of Sonneville High, her voice sharp with frustration, her presence demanding attention. She had turned over classrooms, dug through lockers, even accused a few people outright. She had never let things go easily, and losing that necklace had sent her into a frenzy.
But it had never turned up.
Until now.
Her fingers clenched around the pendant as a cold wave of realization swept through her.
First, the brushes. Now, Emerald's necklace.
Two things from Oakmere. Two ghosts from a past she had tried to leave behind.
Nora's heart pounded against her ribs as she stepped inside, locking the door with more force than necessary before sinking onto the couch. The letter and the necklace lay in her lap, their presence almost mocking.
How?
Who had this?
Why now?
Her chest felt tight. The air in the room felt too thick. She wasn't just unsettled—she was scared. This wasn't random. It wasn't just someone toying with her for fun.
This was personal.
And just as she tried to make sense of it, a sudden shrill sound sliced through the silence.
Her phone.
The sharp ring sent her pulse into a full sprint. Her breath hitched, and for a second, she simply stared at the screen, unable to move.
Unknown Caller.
A sick sense of dread pooled in her stomach.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the phone, hesitating just a fraction too long before she swiped to answer.
"…Hello?"
Silence.
It stretched out, suffocating, just long enough to make her grip tighten around the device.
And then, finally—a voice.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
A slow chill crept down her spine.
The line clicked.
Silence.