Aria and Kieran sat together in the café, a strange silence settling between them. She studied him carefully—the way his brow furrowed as he stared at her sketch, the way his hands lingered on the edges of the page.
“You seem to know something,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “Why does this thread matter to you?”
Kieran hesitated before speaking. “I’ve been researching myths for years—stories about fate and connections. The crimson thread... it’s said to bind two souls destined to meet, no matter the obstacles. I’ve seen it in artifacts, ancient scrolls...” He trailed off, glancing at her painting. “But now, it’s here.”
Aria frowned. “You’re saying this is real? That this thread is more than a symbol?”
He nodded slowly. “And I think it’s tied to us.”
Her heart thudded in her chest, disbelief warring with something deeper—recognition. “Why us?” she whispered.
“I don’t know yet,” Kieran admitted, his voice heavy. “But I’ve been seeing things. Visions. A woman in an ancient workshop, tears in her eyes, holding a thread like this one. And now...” He looked at her, his gaze intense. “I think you’ve seen them too.”
Aria’s breath caught. He was right.