The night was colder than usual, a steady drizzle tapping against the window of Ashley's modest apartment as she sat curled up on her bed, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The room felt smaller than ever, the walls pressing in on her like an unspoken threat. Her phone lay next to her, its cracked screen flickering every so often, displaying the same rejection emails she had read and re-read throughout the day. Each one felt like a stone sinking deeper into her chest, pulling her down to the edge of despair.
She was down to her last few coins. When she came here, she had met with the person that was staying here before and begged him to let her stay till she got the money to pay for the rent.
However, she had no idea how she'd come up with the money. The idea of losing even this small corner of safety sent a chill through her, a cold that burrowed deep into her bones. She'd come so far to escape the prison of the palace in Silvorout, only to find herself cornered once again; by bills, by hunger, by the relentless city that didn't even know her name.
Ashley let out a shaky breath and rose from the bed, pacing the narrow space as though the movement might quiet her racing thoughts. She'd tried everything, online applications, job boards, walking into every shop or cafe she could find, only to be turned away with polite smiles or blunt rejections. She didn't have the right experience, the right papers, the right digital fluency. And no matter how hard she tried to learn, the modern world still seemed like an alien language, the screens and systems a maze she couldn't navigate.
She leaned her forehead against the window, watching the cars pass in the wet glow of the streetlights. A faint ripple of unease prickled at her skin. The same car was parked across the street again, its windows dark and unreadable. She shook her head, trying to dismiss it as nothing more than her own paranoia. She had learned to expect the worst, and maybe that was why she kept seeing shadows where there were none.
But the feeling wouldn't go away.
—
The next morning, Ashley rose with heavy limbs and a determination that felt like the last flicker of a dying flame. She forced herself into the same routine; coffee from a cracked mug, hair tied back in a neat braid, and a hopeful expression she pinned to her face like a fragile badge. She scoured every new posting she could find, scrolling endlessly on borrowed Wi-Fi at a nearby cafe, her fingertips numb from the cold.
It was late afternoon when she stumbled across a listing that made her pause. An administrative assistant position at a small but upscale art gallery in the heart of Yarnat. The listing was polished, the pay enough to cover her rent with a little extra to spare. She read it over and over, heart thudding in her chest, then sent in her sparse resume, half hoping, half sure she'd never hear back.
To her shock, she did. Just an hour later, an email pinged through, inviting her in for an interview the very next morning. She stared at it, blinking hard as relief surged so fast it made her dizzy. She pressed her fingers to her lips, a small, tearful smile breaking through. It felt like a miracle, like a lifeline thrown out just as she was about to slip under.
—
The next morning, she found herself standing outside the gallery, clutching her threadbare coat tighter around her. The building was sleek and modern, its glass facade reflecting the bright sky. She stepped inside, her boots squeaking faintly against the polished floor, and tried to steady her breathing.
The interview was nothing like she expected. The manager, a sharply dressed woman with kind eyes, listened to Ashley's nervous explanations and incomplete answers with an attentive calm. There were questions she couldn't answer. She didn't know the software they used, didn't have references in Yarnat, but something about her earnestness, her quiet dignity, seemed to catch the woman's attention.
"You seem… reliable," the manager said finally, her gaze thoughtful. "We need someone who can be trusted with small details. Someone who… understands the importance of presence."
Ashley blinked, unsure if she understood, but nodded quickly. "I can learn. I'll do whatever it takes."
"I believe you," the woman said with a small smile. "You're hired, Miss Ashley. You can start tomorrow."
Ashley felt the words settle over her like warm light, tears springing unbidden to her eyes. She rose, nearly tripping in her haste to shake the manager's hand, her relief so palpable she thought she might float away. She promised to come in early the next day, bowing in thanks as she left the gallery, her head spinning.
—
She spent the rest of the day in a daze. She bought a fresh loaf of bread, a small treat she hadn't dared to afford since she came, and savored each bite like it was the finest meal in the world. For the first time since arriving in Yarnat, she felt the knot in her chest loosen. The weight she'd been carrying eased just enough for her to breathe again.
Yet even as she walked home through the bustling streets, the hum of voices and flashing billboards around her, the feeling of being watched never fully left her. She kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see that same dark car or the glint of eyes in the crowd. But there was nothing, just the rush of strangers, none of them paying her any mind.
—
In a luxury apartment high above the city, Damon stood before a wall of screens, each one flickering with live feeds from the streets below. He watched her, watched the way she moved, the way her shoulders seemed to straighten with a new, fragile hope as she walked away from the gallery.
"She's taken the job," Lucien said from behind him, his tone calm and efficient. "Just as you predicted."
Damon didn't turn, his eyes fixed on the grainy image of Ashley's profile, her expression soft with relief. A faint, satisfied smile curved his lips. "Good. Let her find her footing. She needs this. She needs to believe it was her own doing."
Lucien shifted, a hint of curiosity in his otherwise blank expression. "Do you want me to… continue monitoring her?"
Damon's gaze flickered to another feed, showing the street outside her apartment. "Yes," he said quietly. "But discreetly. Keep an eye on her health, any changes in her behavior. Don't let her sense it."
Lucien inclined his head. "Understood."
Damon finally turned, his expression unreadable, though his eyes gleamed with something more, like something possessive, protective, and yet still coldly calculating. "She has no idea," he murmured, more to himself than to Lucien. "Let her think this is just a stroke of luck. Let her feel safe. For now."
—
That night, Ashley slept with a small smile on her lips for the first time since she arrived in Yarnat. She didn't know that her chance at a new life wasn't chance at all, but the deliberate hand of someone she thought she had left behind.
Yet even as she drifted into a fragile sleep, the faint sense of unease lingered in her dreams, a whisper she couldn't quite hear, a shadow she couldn't quite see.