Ethan's Perspective
The café’s dim light felt like a fitting metaphor for his life—a space where clarity was always just out of reach. Ethan sat near the window, his fingers curled around the chipped ceramic mug in front of him. The coffee inside had gone cold, untouched since he ordered it. Across the street, Olivia Davis’s apartment window was a faint rectangle of gold against the gray afternoon sky.
He watched the movement inside with the detached precision of a man trained to observe without becoming entangled. But entanglement, it seemed, was inevitable. The longer he studied Olivia, the harder it became to see her as just a target.
Her profile flickered against the glass as she paced, her steps agitated, hands wringing as though trying to physically unravel the threads of whatever
