Chapter 2

Mika’s boots hit the platform hard, the impact sending a shock up her legs, but she didn’t stop. The screech of the train filled the underground station, the scent of hot metal and damp concrete thick in the air. She moved fast, weaving through the flood of commuters pushing toward the exit.

Don’t run. Running draws attention. Running is prey behavior.

She forced her strides to remain even, but her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears. She could still feel him, his eyes, his presence pressing against her back like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Her mind raced through the possibilities. He wouldn’t follow her. Would he? He had no reason to. She was a nobody. A fluke. Just another face in the crowd.

But he had looked at her. Really looked.

Mika reached the turnstiles, swiped her metro card with a steady hand, and pushed through. Her breath was tight in her chest as she hit the stairs, climbing toward the exit two steps at a time. The cold night air hit her like a slap, a stark contrast to the heat of the underground, but she welcomed it.

She kept walking.

The city was alive around her, the glow of neon lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets, the distant wail of a siren slicing through the hum of traffic. People moved past her in clusters, laughter and conversation filling the air, completely oblivious. They had no idea that death had brushed against them just minutes ago.

Her stomach clenched. Do they ever know?

She glanced back.

The station entrance loomed behind her, yawning dark and cavernous. People streamed out in waves, their heads down, their minds elsewhere. Her fingers dug into the strap of her bag, knuckles white. He’s not there.

Relief slithered through her. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe she had panicked too soon. He was a killer, yes, but that didn’t mean he had any interest in her. It was just a coincidence. A mistake.

And then she saw him.

Emerging from the station like a specter, moving with an unhurried grace, his hands tucked into his pockets as though he had all the time in the world.

The breath caught in her throat.

No one noticed him. No one turned to give him a second glance. But Mika saw everything. The way his gaze flicked over the crowd, the way his body barely disturbed the space around him—controlled, effortless, practiced. Predatory.

Her feet wanted to move, to turn and disappear into the city streets. But she stayed rooted, unable to look away.

The streetlights cast a golden hue against his sharp features, illuminating the hollow of his throat, the hard line of his jaw. He wasn’t looking at her.

But she knew he knew where she was.

Mika forced herself to breathe. She couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not when he was watching. Watching? Or following?

A cold sweat beaded at the nape of her neck. She needed to be smart. Needed to think. If she ran now, he’d know she was afraid. If she walked, he might lose interest.

Or maybe this was just a game to him. A way to see what she would do.

She turned sharply, disappearing into the throng of people moving down the sidewalk, letting the bodies swallow her whole. She needed a plan. A detour. Anything but home.

But no matter how many turns she took, how many blocks she crossed, she felt him.

Always just far enough behind.

Always close enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

She spotted a bar up ahead, the kind with dim lighting and a steady stream of customers slipping in and out. A perfect place to disappear. Mika ducked inside, pressing past a cluster of patrons near the entrance, her pulse hammering in her ears. She didn’t stop moving, weaving through the crowd, slipping out the bar’s side exit without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

The alley was dark, the air damp and thick with the scent of wet asphalt. She forced herself to walk, not run. Another turn. Another block. A different street entirely.

And then… nothing.

She stopped, heart racing, waiting for that presence, that weight of being watched.

It was gone.

She exhaled, the tension in her spine unraveling just slightly. She had lost him. Or maybe he had let her go.

Either way, she wasn’t about to stand around and question it. She took the long way home, careful, alert, checking every reflection, every shadow. But by the time she stepped into the quiet of her apartment, locking the door behind her, the city outside felt normal again.

Her fingers trembled as she peeled off her coat, the events of the night crashing over her in waves. She moved on autopilot, switching on a lamp, staring at the soft glow that bathed her space in warmth.

Safe.

But as she stood there, heart still pounding, she knew better.

This wasn’t over.

Somehow, someway, she knew—he’d be back.

Mika returned to normal life as if nothing had happened. She convinced herself that her instincts had saved her, that she had done the right thing by leaving the subway and vanishing into the city. There was no reason to let her mind spiral into paranoia.

She wasn’t being watched.

She wasn’t being hunted.

She had seen something she shouldn’t have, yes, but she hadn’t reacted. She hadn’t screamed or pointed or called the police. There was no reason for the man on the subway to care about her. He had finished what he had come to do, and she had been a bystander. A fluke.

Still, she thought about it.

Not in the way that made her heart pound or her breath shorten, but in a detached, analytical way.

Had it been a gang hit? A professional job? A random act of violence? The efficiency of the kill, the precision—it didn’t feel random. It had been too smooth, too practiced. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Whoever he was, he had done this before.

The thought made something coil low in her stomach.

She spent the next few days carrying on as usual. She went to work, took her normal subway routes, and went through her routine without deviation. The city moved on, as it always did.

No headlines screamed about the murder. No news reports speculated on what had happened.

It was as if nothing had happened at all.

And maybe that was the most unsettling part of all.

Violence happened in New York all the time. Bodies appeared, disappeared, and life went on. She had always known that, but this was the first time she had been close enough to feel it. To witness it.

And the most unnerving thing was that she wasn’t afraid.

She should be. She knew that. But instead, all she felt was curiosity.

Because for all the books she had read about men like him, none of them had ever been real.

Until now.