I couldn’t look away. Even with every survival instinct in my gut screaming at me to bolt, I was pinned to the spot. Across the street, the man stood framed by the flickering neon of a dying theater marquee. He watched me with a terrifyingly patient stillness, as if the cars and pedestrians passing between us were just ghosts in a play he’d already seen.
My pulse was hammering against my ribs, but underneath the panic was that pull—a physical ache in my marrow, a low-frequency hum of recognition that made my skin crawl. I hated that my body seemed to know him even if my mind didn't.
“Maya…” I whispered. “Why does it feel like I should know his name?”
Maya didn’t answer immediately. When I finally looked at her, her usual cool confidence was gone. Her face was tight, her eyes darting tow
