Amelia Vance (The Unknown Series)

POV Leo, a connoisseur of secrets, knew there was more. He noticed the way her eyes, a rare shade of grey, would dart to the alleyway behind the shop at the sound of a distant siren. He saw the faint, pale scars on her knuckles when she gripped a cup too tightly. One Tuesday afternoon, as he was packing up his laptop, a sleek, black car with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. A man in a tailored suit stepped out, his gaze sweeping the street with an unnerving precision. He spoke to Amelia in a low, urgent tone. Amelia's face remained impassive, but her knuckles turned white. Before the man left, he slipped a small, metallic object into her hand. The next day, the small, metallic object was gone. In its place, she wore a simple silver ring on her thumb, a ring that seemed to shimmer with its own light. Leo, unable to resist, left his usual tip and a note with his number. "I'm a writer. I'd love to interview you sometime." He didn't expect a reply, but that evening, his phone buzzed. "Maybe. Meet me at the old pier at midnight." Leo Pov The pier was deserted, shrouded in a thick fog that swallowed the moonlight. Leo's heart hammered against his ribs. He saw her silhouette first, leaning against a railing. She looked different now, not the shy barista, but a figure of poised, quiet power. She didn't smile. "You're a journalist," she said, her voice a low murmur. "What do you want to write about?" "You," he replied honestly. "And whatever it is you're hiding." A loud, piercing alarm cut through the air from the direction of the city docks. Amelia’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with recognition. "They found it," she whispered. "Amelia Vance," a voice boomed from a megaphone. "We know you have the Echo device. Hand it over, and no one gets hurt." One of the men fired a warning shot that ricocheted off a metal post. In that instant, Amelia was no longer the quiet barista. She became a whirlwind of motion. She dodged a punch with a fluid grace that seemed to defy physics, her body twisting and turning like a dancer. She disarmed one man with a swift, efficient flick of her wrist, sending his weapon clattering into the water. As another attacker lunged, she didn't just fight; she seemed to manipulate the very air around her. A subtle pressure change, a ripple in the fabric of the night, and the man was thrown back, stumbling and disoriented.