It was not because of Kade Monroe himself. It was because of the way the city felt afterward, like a room that had been entered and could not return to its previous quiet. Even the hum of traffic outside her window sounded closer, more aware.
By morning, she told herself it meant nothing.
She dressed, tied her hair back, and went to the print shop. The machines greeted her with their usual whirring, the smell of ink clinging to the air. Orders came in. Papers went out. Her name remained unspoken. By noon, the feeling from the night before had dulled enough to feel foolish.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She stared at the screen longer than necessary before answering.
"Lyra," a familiar voice said. "It's Kade."
Her fingers tightened around the phone. "How did you get my number?"
"You left it on the receipt," he replied easily. "I hope that's okay."
It should not have been. But something about his tone made it feel inevitable.
He did not waste time. He never seemed to.
"I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tonight."
There it was. Simple. Direct. No hesitation.
Lyra leaned against the counter, eyes tracing the cracks in the wall. "I work late."
"I'll wait."
The certainty in his voice unsettled her more than any hesitation could have. She said yes before she could talk herself out of it.
That evening, the city dressed itself in light. Storefronts glowed. Cars crawled through traffic like restless insects. Lyra met Kade outside the café after closing, rain still clinging to the pavement from earlier showers.
He looked different out here, less controlled. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair slightly undone. For the first time, he looked real.
They walked without direction at first, conversation easy in a way that surprised her. He asked about her childhood. She told him about moving often, about learning early not to get attached to places or people.
"And now?" he asked.
"Now I stay quiet," she said. "It keeps things simple."
He stopped walking. "Does it make you happy?"
The question caught her off guard. No one had ever asked it like that, without expectation or pity.
"I don't know," she admitted.
They ate at a small place tucked between buildings, the kind of restaurant people missed unless they were looking. He paid without comment. She did not thank him. It felt strangely balanced between them.
As the night deepened, she noticed the way people looked at him. Curious glances. Recognizing ones. A few whispered his name. He noticed too, and something hardened briefly behind his eyes.
"This is why I don't come out much," he said quietly. "People decide who you are before you speak."
She laughed softly. "Imagine how that feels without the money."
He looked at her then, really looked, and for the first time she saw something shift in him.
"Stay," he said suddenly. "With me. Tonight."
The word carried weight. Not a command. An invitation.
They stood beneath a streetlight, the city pressing in around them. Lyra felt the moment balancing on something fragile.
She should have walked away.
Instead, she stepped closer.
His hand found hers, warm and certain, and when their fingers laced together, Lyra felt it fully this time.
The activation.
Not fireworks. Not promises.
Just the quiet realization that being seen was far more dangerous than being invisible.
And she was no longer invisible.