Midnight settled over the city quietly, not with drama but with weight. The streets emptied, lights dimmed, and the noise of the day softened into something distant and hollow.
Tomas clocked out of the port warehouse with stiff fingers and sore shoulders. The shift had been long—longer than usual—and his body carried the evidence of it. Muscles ached from lifting crates, hauling equipment, repeating the same movements until time blurred. Sweat clung to his skin beneath layers of work clothes. He rolled his shoulders once, testing the pain, then let his arms fall back to his sides.
Another shift done. Another envelope of cash waiting at the end of the week.
Outside, the air was cold enough to bite. It cleared his head instantly, pulling a sharp breath from his lungs. Fog drifted low along the pavement, thin but persistent, curling around streetlights and swallowing their glow halfway. The city felt smaller in it, more closed in.
He started walking.
Dry leaves scraped beneath his boots, the sound loud in the otherwise empty street. Tomas didn't rush. He never did after work. The steady pace helped keep his thoughts under control.
From a few blocks away, the neon sign of Obsidian bled purple through the mist. The light flickered unevenly, just like always. Even from a distance, the bar stood out—alive when the rest of the street seemed asleep.
His steps slowed without him meaning them to.
He checked his watch.
11:57 p.m.
Laura should be finishing her shift.
The thought surfaced before he could stop it. He told himself it was coincidence, habit, nothing more. They lived in the same building now. Of course their schedules overlapped sometimes.
Still, he crossed the street and stopped near the brick wall opposite the bar, half-hidden where the fog thickened. He leaned back against the cold surface, arms folding loosely across his chest.
Music pulsed faintly through the walls of Obsidian, bass heavy but muted at this distance. Laughter spilled out each time the door opened, followed by warmth and light before the door closed again.
I'm not waiting, he told himself. Just passing time.
His gaze moved automatically, scanning the street the way it always did. Old habit. Awareness drilled into him long before this job, before this city.
That was when he noticed them.
Two men stood beneath a streetlamp further down the block. Their jackets were dark, collars turned up against the cold. They weren't talking much. One leaned back against the pole, eyes moving too often. The other stood straighter, weight shifting from foot to foot.
They didn't fit.
Tomas watched without staring.
One of them pulled something from his pocket—a folded piece of paper. He opened it carefully and held it up under the yellow light.
A photograph.
"That's her," the man said quietly. "She works here."
The second man leaned in, studying it. His mouth curled into a thin smile. "About time. We wait until she's done, then grab her."
Tomas's breathing slowed.
The fog seemed to thicken, the sounds around him dulling as his attention narrowed. His eyes stayed on the men, taking in small details—the way one kept his hand near his pocket, the tension in their shoulders, the casual confidence in their voices.
They were talking about Laura.
His body reacted before his thoughts fully formed. Muscles tightened, posture shifted. The exhaustion from work faded into the background, replaced by something colder and sharper.
He stepped away from the wall and crossed the street, adjusting his gait as he moved. He let his shoulders sag slightly, his steps uneven. When he spoke, his voice was rough, unfocused.
"Hey," Tomas said, stopping a few feet away. "You got a cigarette?"
The taller man glanced at him with irritation. "Get lost."
Tomas swayed a little closer. "Just one. I'll pay."
"Beat it," the man snapped, turning his attention back to his partner.
That was enough.
Tomas moved fast. One step in, his arm snapping around the taller man's neck from behind, pulling him off balance. His fingers pressed into a precise point beneath the ear. The man's body went slack almost instantly, weight collapsing backward.
Before the second man could react properly, Tomas turned. A knife flashed in the man's hand—poorly concealed, too slow.
Tomas grabbed his wrist and twisted hard.
The crack echoed sharply in the quiet street.
The knife fell to the ground. The man cried out, panic replacing confidence as Tomas shoved him backward into the nearby alley. Brick walls closed in, cutting off sound from the street.
Tomas pinned him there, forearm pressed firmly against his throat—not crushing, just enough to make breathing difficult.
"Why are you looking for the girl from this bar?" Tomas asked.
His voice was calm. Controlled.
The man shook, fear obvious now. "We—we were hired. Her uncle. Valentinas. He paid us."
"Why?"
"She knows something," the man rushed out. "Something her mother left behind. Files. Data. I don't know exactly what it is. He works for NovaCure—high up. He said she ran away. That she belongs to him."
NovaCure.
The name hit Tomas hard.
For a brief moment, images flooded his mind—white corridors, quiet offices, conversations that stopped when he entered the room as a teenager. His parents coming home late, tired but focused. The accident report. The word accidental printed too neatly.
Coincidences were rarely that simple.
The man kept talking, voice cracking. "He kept her locked up. Said she stole something. Tried to force it out of her. I swear, that's all I know."
Tomas held him there another second, then released him abruptly. He pulled the man's wallet from his pocket, memorizing the address inside, then shoved him toward the alley's exit.
"If you come near her again," Tomas said quietly, "you won't walk away."
The man didn't argue. He ran, clutching his injured arm, disappearing into the fog.
Tomas dragged the unconscious man into a shadowed doorway and stepped back just as the door to Obsidian opened.
Laura stepped outside.
The light from the bar softened her features, catching the loose strands of her hair. She looked tired, but when she spotted Tomas, her expression changed immediately. A small smile appeared—natural, unguarded.
"You're still up," she said, surprised. "Did you just get off work?"
"Yeah," Tomas replied. He forced his voice to sound normal. "You done?"
"Just finished." She hesitated. "Did you… wait for me?"
He shrugged. "Same direction."
She smiled again, clearly pleased. "Walk me home?"
"Sure."
They moved off together, the fog thinning as they left the bar behind. Their footsteps fell into an easy rhythm. Occasionally their sleeves brushed, brief contact neither of them commented on.
Tomas kept his attention on their surroundings, alert despite the calm. He didn't tell her what had happened. Not yet. She didn't need that fear added to her shoulders—not until he knew more.
"What do you do to relax?" Laura asked suddenly. "When you're not working."
He considered it. "I don't know. I don't relax much."
She laughed softly. "Figures."
"What about you?"
"Movies," she said. "Anything distracting. Maybe we could watch something together sometime."
"…Okay," Tomas said after a moment.
They reached their building and climbed the stairs side by side.
"Good night," they said at the same time, then shared a brief laugh before heading to their rooms.
---
Sleep came slowly.
Tomas lay staring at the ceiling, thoughts heavy and tangled. NovaCure. Laura's uncle. Men hunting her.
The list on his table felt heavier than before.
Protect her, a thought settled in, quiet but firm.
---
Laura lay awake too.
The past crept in when the world went quiet.
Her mother. The hospital. NovaCure promising miracles.
Then her uncle.
The questions.
The first lock on the door.
What did your mother leave you?
She had nothing.
The beatings came anyway.
Trapped in a nightmare
She curled into herself, hands shaking.
If he finds me again… i have run away again, if Tomas gets hurt because of me…
Tears slipped free.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her.