Amara couldn't shake the feeling that her world was slowly slipping away. Everything around her felt like it was moving, changing, while she stayed still—stuck in a moment that no longer made sense.
The violet petal lay on her pillow, small and soft. It didn't look like something that should be there. She picked it up gently, running her thumb across the edge. It felt real. Too real.
It didn't crumble or fade. It stayed whole. Perfect. Like someone had placed it there on purpose. Her chest tightened. Where had it come from? And why did it feel like something from a dream she couldn't quite remember?
It wasn't just the petal that scared her. It was everything that came with it. The strange dreams. The storm. The man with the violet eyes—the one who made her heart react before her mind could catch up. The one who felt like a memory her body remembered even when her mind didn't.
She pulled her blanket around her shoulders, trying to stop the chill running through her. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and distant sounds from outside. But inside, something was building. Something she didn't understand.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Mr. Talbot lit up the screen.
"You okay? Still want to meet later? It's about the new project… and something else."
She stared at the message. She hadn't seen him since waking up. She wasn't sure she was ready. But something in her told her she needed to move. To do something. To feel normal, even if only for a while.
She replied:
"I'm fine. Let's meet tomorrow. Same place?"
His answer came fast.
"Of course. I'll keep it simple. Just a few things to go over."
She looked at the screen for a long time. The words felt heavy. Nothing had been simple since the storm. Not her body. Not her mind. And definitely not her heart.
She put her phone down and walked to the window, drawn by an impulse she couldn't name. The city outside glowed faintly, its lights blurring behind a veil of mist. The storm had passed, but its memory clung to the air like perfume—faint but persistent.
As she watched, a flicker of movement caught her eye.
A man stood across the street. Still. Unmoving. His face hidden beneath a hood, his posture too calm for the hour. He didn't pace. Didn't check his phone. He simply stood there, like he had all the time in the world.
Amara's breath hitched.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
He was gone.
Her heart slammed in her chest. She searched the shadows, but the street was empty now, the space where he had stood swallowed whole by silence.
Amara stepped back, letting the curtain fall. Her skin prickled. She wasn't sure what frightened her more—that someone had been watching, or that she'd imagined it.
She turned back to her room. The petal still rested on her nightstand.
She stared at it like it might move on its own.
Sleep was a stranger that night. Amara tossed and turned, her thoughts chasing shadows she couldn't outrun. Just as her eyes began to close, the sharp buzz of her phone shattered the silence.
She reached for it hesitantly, her fingers cold against the screen.
A new message.
Her breath caught as she read it:
"I know what's been happening to you. I'm the one you've been looking for. Don't be afraid."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She stared at the name above the text: Unknown Contact.
It felt like something out of her dreams—too surreal, too pointed. And yet, it was right there. Real.
Hands shaking, she typed back the only thing that mattered.
Who are you?