Chapter 2 — The Second Glance

Rain still clung to the city, turning every streetlight into a halo of blurred gold. Water pooled in the uneven streets, reflecting the dim glow of neon signs like fractured glass. Inside the black sedan, the air felt warm but heavy, the faint scent of leather and gunpowder lingering—something that never truly left Lucien’s world.

He sat back in the leather seat, one gloved hand resting loosely on his knee, the other lying idle on the armrest. The car was silent, save for the steady drum of rain against the windows. The sound had a rhythm, slow but relentless, like a heartbeat he couldn’t quite escape.

The city crawled past in streaks of blurred light and shadow, the windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the downpour. Inside the car, it was quiet- only the rhythmic patter of rain against glass filled the silence.

Old brick buildings leaned toward the streets, their façades weathered by years of storms and neglect. A stray cat darted across the road, disappearing into an alley. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and faded.That was the only moment the silence dared to break.

They took the same route as before.

Lucien’s gaze drifted without focus until a flicker of movement—or perhaps the absence of it—caught his eye. And there he was.

Across the street, framed once again in the doorway of that rundown bar. The awning above him dripped steadily, the water tracing silver lines down his shoulders. Rain plastered dark hair to pale skin. His clothes, soaked through, clung to a frame too still for someone simply waiting out the weather. He didn’t shift his weight, didn’t cross his arms for warmth. He simply stood there—motionless, gaze distant, as though the city around him was nothing but a faint memory.

Lucien studied him in silence. There was something about that stillness that clung to the air, an invisible gravity that drew his attention and refused to let go. It wasn’t just the man’s posture—it was the way his eyes seemed fixed on something far beyond the street in front of him. Eyes like that didn’t belong to someone lost in thought. They belonged to someone who had already lost too much.

The car rolled past, tires hissing against the wet asphalt. Lucien’s head turned slightly, watching as the figure shrank in the window’s frame. The man didn’t look up. Didn’t even blink.

The car moved on, and soon the figure vanished from sight, swallowed by the rain and the dim light.

Lucien sat back again, though his chest felt heavier than it had moments ago. He told himself it didn’t matter—that he didn’t even know the man’s name, and wouldn’t remember him by tomorrow. But the image was already carved into his mind like a scar.

When the bar finally slipped from view, Lucien realized his hand had tightened into a fist in his lap. He loosened his grip slowly, but the tension lingered, refusing to let go.

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