Noah had never believed in moments that changed a person.
He believed in slow damage.
In habits.
In compromises.
In things that happened too gradually to notice until they had already rewritten you.
But then Evan crossed the street.
It was late afternoon, the kind where the sun dulled itself into gold, tired and low, spilling between buildings like it was trying to apologize for something.
Noah waited beside his car, arms folded, jacket unzipped, eyes scanning the sidewalk out of instinct more than concern.
He saw Evan before Evan saw him.
Standing on the opposite side of the road.
Messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
Hair messy from wind and fingers.
Sleeves rolled up like he always did when he forgot the world could be cold.
He was smiling. Not carefully. Not politely. Just… openly. At nothing in particular. At the day, maybe.
The light turned red. Cars slowed. Evan stepped off the curb. And in that small, ordinary movement, something inside Noah came undone.
The city blurred. Noise faded. All Noah could see was him. Walking. Existing in a world that had almost taken him away.
Evan looked up mid-crossing and spotted him. His face changed instantly, it brightened, softened, warmed like someone had lit a candle behind his ribs. He lifted one hand and waved, awkward and enthusiastic.
Noah forgot to breathe. He had seen crime scenes. He had watched men die. He had lived inside violence long enough to forget that beauty could be quiet. But Evan...
Evan crossing the street toward him felt like the universe offering something unbearably fragile and saying:
Don't break this, just don't let me wake up...
By the time Evan reached him, Noah realized his hands were trembling.
"Hey," Evan said, breathless, smiling like he had been saving it just for him.
"Hey," Noah replied.
The word came out rough.
Evan tilted his head. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Noah didn't answer.
He reached out instead, fingers brushing Evan's sleeve, his wrist, his hand—just to feel him.
Real.
Warm.
Here.
"You okay?" Evan asked softly. Noah nodded once. Too quickly.
"You're… late," he said.
Evan made a face. "Archivist emergency. Someone mislabeled a box from 1998. Tragic."
Noah huffed a breath that might have been laughter.
They stood too close. Didn't step apart. Noah realized then...with terrifying clarity...that this wasn't concern. This wasn't attraction. This wasn't even love in its early, uncertain shape.
This was attachment.
Deep.
Unreasonable.
The kind that rearranged priorities.
The kind that rewrote fear.
The kind that made a man look at another human being and think:
If the world ends, I want him to be the last thing I see.
Noah opened Evan's car door for him without thinking. Watched him buckle in. Watched the way he tucked his hands between his knees when he was tired. And knew... He was already lost.
Rhea stood in front of her board long after everyone else had gone home.
Photos.
Maps.
Dates.
Victims.
Lines crossing like veins beneath skin. Something was wrong. Not with the pattern. With the absence. Hunters didn't stop. They waited.
She rubbed her eyes, exhausted. Her gaze drifted, unwillingly, to one name. Evan Kale.
Not circled. Not accused. Just… there. Again. She hated it. He was gentle. Soft-spoken. He flinched when people raised their voices. But...
He dreamed of murders before they happened. He collapsed when the killer moved. His body reacted like it remembered something his mind refused to touch.
It didn't make him guilty. But it made him important.
She exhaled slowly. Pulled out her phone. Texted Noah.
We need to talk about Evan.
Not as a suspect. As a witness to something deeper.
He should see a psychiatrist. Someone specialized in trauma-linked precognition and dissociative pattern memory.
She stared at the message. Her finger hovered. Sent it. She missed it. The small detail. The thread woven so subtly into the evidence that it hid in plain sight. The constant variable. Not Evan. But the person always near him when the world went dark.
Noah and Evan drove in silence. Not awkward. Comfortable. Evan leaned his head against the window, watching the city slide by. Noah stole glances at him like a thief.
He felt Rhea's message buzz in his pocket. Ignored it. Just for a moment longer. He wanted this version of the world to stay.
His phone rang. Unknown number. He hesitated. Then answered.
"Noah."
A voice on the other end. Filtered. Calm. Almost polite.
"You're looking in the wrong places." Noah's hand tightened on the wheel.
"Who is this?"
"There's evidence," the voice continued. "Real evidence. About your case. About him." Noah's blood went cold.
"About Evan?"
A pause. A smile, audible even through distortion.
"Yes."
The line went dead. Noah stared at the road.
Evan turned to him. "Noah?"
He didn't answer.
The world had shifted.
Again...