Chapter Two: Shadows in the Glass
1222 Words
(Elara’s POV)
The building wasn’t supposed to breathe after hours.
Yet somehow, that night, it did.
The entire top floor pulsed faintly under the weight of the city outside—lights flickering across its glass façade like restless dreams refusing to sleep. From my desk, I could see the streets far below, blurred by the steady drizzle. The city never truly went dark. It only shimmered in quieter colors.
I was supposed to have gone home hours ago. My neck ached, my fingers were stained with graphite, and my laptop had been blinking the same error message for half an hour. But I stayed anyway. Maybe because I couldn’t stand the thought of another night in my tiny apartment. Maybe because silence felt less lonely when it came with a skyline view.
Or maybe because I hoped I’d see him again.
And as if the thought itself carried weight, I heard it—the soft squeak of the mop bucket wheels against marble. The sound that had started to feel strangely familiar.
He was back.
I didn’t look up at first. My heart, however, did that thing it always did when he was near—an involuntary stutter, like it was trying to remember something it shouldn’t.
“Still here?” The voice came smooth and unhurried, carrying that teasing calm only he could manage.
I glanced up. “You’re one to talk. Don’t janitors clock out after midnight?”
He leaned casually on the mop handle, eyes glinting beneath the low light. “I like working when it’s quiet. No one pretending to be something they’re not.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Is that why you prefer the night?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing how honest he wanted to be. “Maybe. The night’s honest. It shows people what they hide in daylight.”
His words hung there—gentle, deliberate, and far too intimate for an empty office.
He set the mop aside and walked closer, each step steady, measured, like he was moving through space he already owned. His presence shifted the air, and suddenly the entire floor didn’t feel so empty anymore.
“Can I see your sketch again?” he asked.
I hesitated. “You’ll only find something wrong with it.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe. But I’ll tell you the truth.”
That was the thing about him—he didn’t ask; he invited you to trust him. Against my better judgment, I handed over the sheet of paper. His fingers brushed mine, just barely, but enough to send a wave of warmth that had no business being there.
He studied the drawing quietly. There was something about the way he looked at it—like he wasn’t just seeing the lines, but the person behind them.
“You have potential,” he said finally. “But you’re afraid to take up space.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
He looked up, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Every line you draw hesitates before it reaches the edge. You’re scared to cross boundaries. Architecture demands certainty, Elara. You design how the world stands. You can’t do that if you’re afraid of your own vision.”
The way he said it—so firm, so sure—made something in me unravel.
“You talk like someone who’s been in my shoes,” I said softly.
His lips curved. Not quite a smile, more like a memory that hurt. “Maybe I’ve been in worse.”
For a heartbeat, his expression changed—like a shadow had passed behind his eyes. Then it was gone.
Somewhere down the hall, the elevator chimed. The sound made him glance toward it, just briefly. His shoulders stiffened, every inch of him suddenly alert. The reaction was so quick, so instinctive, it didn’t belong to a janitor.
But by the time he looked back at me, the guardedness had melted away, replaced by that same quiet focus.
“You’re not like the others here,” he said. “They draw for money. You draw because you want to build something that outlives you.”
His words hit something deep, raw. “How do you know that?”
He shrugged, eyes still on me. “I pay attention.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re a very observant janitor.”
That earned me a low chuckle. “Maybe I’m just good at cleaning up messes—on paper or in people.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like experience talking.”
“Maybe.” His gaze dropped briefly to the sketch, then back to me. “You’ll do great things, Elara. You just have to stop waiting for permission.”
The way he said my name… it lingered. Soft. Unrushed. Like he enjoyed the way it felt on his tongue. It shouldn’t have sounded intimate. But it did.
Outside, thunder rolled lazily through the clouds, followed by rain tapping gently against the glass. He turned toward the window, watching the droplets chase each other down the pane. The city lights blurred and shimmered through the downpour, reflecting both of us in soft outlines.
“Do you have an umbrella?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
He frowned, just slightly. “Then you’ll wait till it stops.”
I smiled faintly. “You’re very commanding for a janitor.”
He smirked. “Occupational hazard.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was small, tired, but real. For a moment, it didn’t feel like I was talking to a stranger. It felt like standing at the edge of something I didn’t yet understand—something dangerous, maybe, but alive.
The rain softened. The hum of the city faded into the rhythm of our breathing.
His reflection hovered beside mine in the window, tall, composed, unreadable. I traced the faint outline of his jaw in the glass, the sharpness of his profile, the calm authority that didn’t belong in this building.
No janitor looked like that.
No janitor carried silence the way he did—like a weapon he’d mastered.
But I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to break the spell.
When the rain finally quieted to a drizzle, he turned toward me. “Go home, Elara. Before the night decides to keep you.”
Something in the way he said it made me shiver.
I began packing my things slowly, dragging out every second. “Goodnight, Dean.”
He paused by the glass doors, one hand resting lightly on the frame. “It’s never just goodnight with you,” he murmured, so quietly I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear it.
And then he was gone.
The building fell silent again, but it didn’t feel empty. His presence lingered—his voice, his scent, the warmth of the space where he’d stood.
I stared at my reflection in the window. My heartbeat felt too loud, my pulse too aware.
Something about him didn’t fit. Something about him dared me to look deeper.
And as the night wrapped itself around the city, I knew one thing for sure—
Whatever secrets Klaus Hale was hiding behind that janitor’s uniform, I was going to find them.
Even if it meant losing myself along the way.
- Writer
