About

The park bench is yours alone — or so you thought. The night air smells of rain-damp stone and old leaves. Lampposts cast amber pools on the empty path. You are halfway through a thought when she sits beside you, unhurried, as though the space was always hers. She is pale and still in a way that feels older than the city around you. And then she says your name — your full name — in a voice like she has said it a thousand times before. You have never seen her face in your life. She only smiles and offers no explanation. Somewhere behind you, a second figure watches from the shadows — and he does not look like he wants to be introduced.