Adrian's POV
The man shouldn't have reached for his pocket; that was a classic move.
I caught the movement through the crowd, too precise, too deliberate, and before I knew it, I was cutting through the late-evening rush, coat open, rain striking my face like a warning.
I didn't even realize who the woman was until the blur of her hair caught a passing headlight.
Elena.
My pulse spiked. Of course, she'd be here, in the one district that still smelled like death.
She was half a block ahead, unaware of the man shadowing her. The city noise folded around her, the car horns, human chatter, and footsteps, but the rhythm of danger beat louder in my head.
I can no longer ignore the psychic hum I had been pretending not to feel for days; it sharpened with her nearness until it felt like someone tugged a wire straight through my chest.
I lengthened my stride.
The tail adjusted too.
She turned down a narrow street lined with cafés and bookstores, rain pooling between uneven cobblestones. I caught the glint of metal in the tail's hand.
"Move," I muttered, pushing past a group of tourists.
By the time I reached her, she was already turning, eyes widening as if she'd felt me before seeing me. The link unique to us was restless; it might have been unwanted, yet it's alive, flaring bright.
"Adrian." Her voice was a blade sheathed in surprise.
"Don't stop," I said quietly. "Walk."
Her brows knit, but she obeyed, keeping pace beside me as I angled us toward the brighter end of the street.
"There's a man behind you," I murmured. "Left side, grey coat."
"I know."
That answer made me grit my teeth. "And your plan?"
"To keep walking." She replied
"You're enjoying this," I stated grimly.
She shot me a sidelong look. "You always assume that when you're not the one in control."
The word hit harder than it should have. I kept my tone even. "Control keeps you alive."
"Control keeps you lonely," she said.
The tail paused at a storefront, pretending to look at books. His reflection in the glass showed eyes that never left Elena. I steered us into the nearest café before I decided to handle him the violent way.
Inside, warmth hit like a wave. The smell of coffee and damp wool. A jazz record is skipping somewhere in the corner. We took a table by the window. She shrugged off her hood, shaking rain from her hair. I tried not to notice the way it clung to her neck.
"You shouldn't have followed me," she said.
"You shouldn't have been followed at all."
"I had it handled."
"You keep saying that."
"And you keep showing up anyway."
The exchange should have been an argument. Instead, it sounded almost like routine, an old rhythm neither of us wanted but couldn't let go.
Outside, the man lingered across the street, pretending to smoke. I sent a pulse of thought outward, the kind that bends perception for a few minutes.
Then he blinked, confused, and drifted away. I finally looked at her.
She was watching me already.
"You did something," she said.
"I discouraged him."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he won't remember your face or why he was out here by the time he gets home."
Her mouth tightened. "You can't just—"
"I can," I cut in. "And I will, if it keeps you breathing."
She leaned back, crossing her arms. "You think caring gives you permission."
"No," I said. "It gives me motive."
The silence that followed had weight. Beneath it, the psychic energy between us stirred again, slow and magnetic.
For days, I had felt fragments—her restless nights, the sharp taste of fear when the unknown number called her again, the way she tried to bury it beneath anger.
Now, sitting this close, everything bled through clearer: the warmth of her skin, the quick stutter of her heartbeat, the exhaustion she tried to hide.
She felt it too. I saw it in the way her breath hitched.
"Stop," she whispered.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're thinking too loudly."
I almost laughed. "That's rich, coming from you."
Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "You haven't slept."
"Neither have you."
She flinched, realizing I'd read it straight from her mind.
"Don't."
"I didn't mean to."
"You always mean to."
The accusation was gentle, not cruel. She looked away, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. I wanted to reach out, to still her hand, to tell her I didn't want inside her head, I just didn't know how to stay out anymore.
Instead, I asked, "Who were you talking to when I found you?"
Her shoulders tensed. "A wrong number."
"Elena."
"Don't start."
"It's the third time you've answered it."
Her gaze snapped to mine. "You've been listening?"
"Feeling," I corrected. "There's a difference."
"No, there isn't."
Maybe she was right. It wasn't a line anymore; it was a vein, feeding both of us something we didn't fully understand.
I drew a breath, lowering my voice. "If someone's reaching you through channels you can't trace, you tell me."
"I can handle it."
"You need to promise me you will keep yourself safe," I stated, staring deep into her eyes.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "You're impossible."
"And you're reckless."
She laughed softly, without humor. "We make a perfect pair, then."
The words lodged under my ribs. For a moment, I saw what that could mean, what it could look like if she trusted me. But then the image twisted, and I saw what I always did: ruin following close behind.
The rain outside thickened. She stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. "I should go."
"Where?"
"Home."
"You know that's not safe, and it's time to make better decisions."
She turned, wet hair brushing her cheek. "Neither is staying near you."
That stung more than it should have.
I caught up to her just outside the door. "At least let me walk you."
"Adrian—"
"I'll stay five steps behind."
She sighed but didn't argue. That small mercy felt like victory.
We walked in silence. The city shimmered, reflections trembling in every puddle. She moved quickly, head down, coat drawn tight. I stayed a few paces back, pretending I wasn't counting each breath she took.
Halfway down the block, the link surged again, more of an echo of her thoughts slipping through. A flash of her apartment, dark except for the phone glowing on the table. The same unknown number is calling again. Then, fear.
"Elena," I said.
She stopped. "Don't."
"You felt it too."
Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what it is. It feels… familiar. Like something trying to remember me."
"That's not possible."
"Then explain it."
I couldn't.
We were standing too close now, rain tracing her cheek like a line I wanted to follow with my fingers.
"You should have stayed at the estate," I said quietly. "At least there, I could protect you."
She met my eyes. "I don't need protection. I need the truth."
"I'm helping you get both."
"No, you're giving me pieces."
Her voice shook, not from anger, but from everything she'd been holding together since the night she left. The part of me that had built walls for years began to crack.
I reached out before I could stop myself. My fingers brushed her sleeve. Electricity shot up my arm, not metaphor but psychic feedback: her pulse against mine, her breath inside my lungs, her fear blooming like fire.
She gasped, and I saw flashes of her as a child, a locked door, a hand reaching. Pain. Then present again, her eyes wide, our connection burning too bright.
I pulled back as if from a flame. "I'm sorry."
She steadied herself on the railing beside us. "What was that?"
"I don't know."
But I did. The bond is growing stronger, feeding on proximity and emotion. And I wanted it anyway.
She stepped closer, searching my face. "You're scared."
"I've been scared since the night I met you."
That made her smile, small and real. And she said, "Some honesty, finally."
I almost said more, everything I'd swallowed for days. The sleepless nights had worsened without her, the way her absence echoed louder than any thought. But the words caught at the edge of my throat.
"Elena," I started.
She waited.
"I…" The rest dissolved under her gaze. I exhaled. "Be careful."
The disappointment that flickered in her eyes was brief, but it stayed with me. She nodded once, then turned toward the tram line.
I watched until she disappeared among umbrellas and reflected light, her outline fading into the rhythm of the city.
The tether between us throbbed once more, like a heartbeat, like a fading memory, and settled into a steady pulse I couldn't silence.
I stayed there long after she was gone, listening to the rain and the echo of what I hadn't said.
I can sense impending trouble. Sometimes my visions manifest in flashes; they might be wrong, but at this moment, I am certain.