The silver dragon pin in my hand felt like a piece of burning coal. As the clock struck 7:00 PM, the metal turned a deep, blood-red.
3... 2... 1...
Suddenly, my vision flashed white. My power didn't show me 10 seconds of the future this time—it showed me a memory that wasn't mine. I saw a dark room, a raining night in Shanghai, and a man's silhouette standing over a broken safe.
"Shifa!" a voice snapped me back to reality.
It was Director Chen's assistant, a sharp-looking woman with glasses. "The Director wants you in Studio 4 immediately. We are doing a surprise screen test with the male lead."
My heart skipped a beat. Studio 4? That was the name I had seen in my flash.
I walked into the massive studio. The lights were dim, except for a single spotlight in the center. Standing there, leaning against a vintage motorcycle, was the same man from the hallway. He had removed his jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, looking like a king who owned the shadows.
"Meet Zian," the assistant said. "The biggest superstar in Asia, and your co-star."
Zian didn't look at me. He was staring at the silver pin I was still clutching. "That pin," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Where did you get it?"
I couldn't speak, so I held his gaze. I tried to trigger my power, but again—nothing. Zian was a 'blind spot' in time.
"She's a mute, Zian. She won't answer you," Director Chen called out from the darkness of the booth. "Just start the scene. The script says you suspect her of being a spy. Trap her."
Zian moved faster than I could blink. In one smooth motion, he pinned me against the motorcycle. His face was inches from mine. I could smell the scent of rain and expensive sandalwood on him.
"I don't care if you can't speak," Zian hissed, his eyes searching mine. "I know who sent you. That pin belongs to the 'Red Circle'—the group that disappeared ten years ago."
Suddenly, the red pin in my hand began to vibrate. My 10-second vision kicked in.
10... 9... 8...
I saw the heavy velvet curtain behind Zian catching fire from a short circuit. I saw the massive wooden beam above us snapping and falling directly onto his head.
3... 2... 1...
"Move!" my mind screamed.
I didn't wait. I grabbed Zian's collar and pulled him toward me with all my strength. We tumbled to the floor just as the massive beam crashed exactly where he had been standing a second ago. Fire erupted instantly, turning the studio into a golden cage of flames.
Zian looked at the wreckage, then at me, his eyes filled with a mix of shock and suspicion. He realized I had saved his life, but he also knew I had seen it coming.
"Who are you, Shifa?" he whispered over the roar of the fire. "And how do you know what's going to happen before it does?"
Studio 4 was turning into a furnace. The fire from the curtains was spreading fast, licking the wooden rafters above us. Smoke filled the air, thick and black.
Zian stared at me, his hand still gripping my arm where I had pulled him. For a second, the world around us—the screaming staff, the falling debris—didn't exist. There was only the heat of the fire and the intensity in his eyes.
"You... you knew," he breathed out, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames.
I didn't have time to explain, and I couldn't even if I wanted to. I looked up.
The 10-second countdown didn't start this time. It was as if the danger was too constant.
I grabbed Zian's hand. His skin was cold despite the heat. I pointed toward the small technician's exit behind the heavy soundproof boards. It was the only way out that wasn't blocked by the collapsing roof.
"This way!" I shouted in my head, pulling him with a strength I didn't know I had.
We ran through the curtain of sparks. A piece of burning wood fell, grazing my shoulder, but I didn't stop. We burst through the exit door into the cool, rain-soaked night of Shanghai.
I leaned against the brick wall, gasping for air. My long hair was messy, smelling of smoke, but we were alive. Zian stood in front of me, his white shirt stained with ash. He looked at the silver dragon pin I was still holding.
"That pin is a tracker, Shifa," Zian said, his voice cold again. "The people who sent it... they didn't want to kill me. They wanted to find you."
Suddenly, three black cars screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. Men in suits stepped out, their faces hidden by the shadows of their umbrellas.
Zian didn't hesitate. He grabbed my waist and pulled me toward his motorcycle parked nearby. "If you want to live to see the first day of the shoot, get on. Now!"
I hopped onto the back of the heavy bike. As Zian roared the engine to life, I wrapped my arms around him. For the first time, my vision flickered—not a countdown, but a clear image.
I saw Zian's face, not as a superstar, but as a child, crying in front of the same Red Dragon symbol.
The mystery wasn't just about my power anymore. It was about him.
"Hold on tight," Zian yelled over the wind as we flew out of the alley, leaving the black cars behind in a cloud of smoke.