By Sunday afternoon, Elowen had convinced herself that the strange feeling of being watched was only stress.

Stress, poor sleep, too much screen time, and the particular madness that came from drawing romantic tension for a living while having absolutely none of it in her real life.

That was the explanation.

It was a good explanation.

It was also the only one that didn't make her want to check behind the curtains like a woman in the first act of a psychological thriller.

She spent the morning grocery shopping, just like she'd told Lucien she would. The errand took longer than expected because Sunny had eaten the corner off her shopping list before she left, which meant she forgot oat milk, bought two bunches of parsley for no reason, and came home with a box of cereal she didn't remember putting in the cart.

By the time she made it back to her apartment building, her arms ached from carrying bags, her hair had escaped its clip, and the sky over Ravenfall City had settled into a pale, moody gray.

Sunny greeted her like she had returned from war.

"Yes, I missed you too," she said, trying to push the door closed with her foot while he danced around her legs. "Please don't make me drop the eggs."

He sneezed directly at the grocery bags.

"Thank you for your contribution."

After putting everything away, Elowen stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at the oat milk she had, miraculously, remembered after all.

Then she remembered something else.

Lucien.

She had promised to warn him if she logged in late.

The thought came so naturally that she didn't question it until she already had her phone in her hand.

Her thumb hovered over Lumina.

She didn't open it.

Not yet.

A promise to a game character shouldn't make her feel guilty. It was absurd. Objectively embarrassing. If she ever told Sofia about this, her friend would either stage an intervention or ask for the download link.

Elowen set her phone facedown on the counter.

"I'm allowed to have lunch first," she told Sunny.

Sunny looked at her with deep concern, as if he doubted her commitment to survival.

She made toast, ate half of it standing at the counter, and managed to answer one email from Daniel Brooks, her editor, about an upcoming publication meeting. Daniel's message was polite, practical, and painfully normal.

Hello Elowen,

Attached is the updated contract summary. No rush today, but please review when you have time.

No rush today.

Beautiful phrase. Fictional phrase.

She glanced at the stack of sketches waiting on her desk and decided the only civilized thing to do was leave the apartment before the work dragged her back into its jaws.

There was a café two blocks away that made an oat milk Americano strong enough to reset her will to live. She pulled on a long cream coat, clipped her hair again with limited success, and promised Sunny she'd be quick.

He gave her the look of a betrayed husband in a period drama.

"Don't start."

The hallway outside her apartment was quiet.

Too quiet, maybe.

Elowen locked her door and paused.

The apartment next to hers had been empty for months. She'd gotten used to the silence behind it, to the untouched welcome mat and the absence of footsteps through the wall. Now, for the first time, there were two sleek black moving boxes stacked neatly beside the neighboring door.

No labels.

No mess.

No sign of the chaotic half-death most people experienced while moving.

Just two elegant boxes placed with the precision of museum pieces.

"Huh," she murmured.

A new neighbor.

Sunny would be thrilled. Sunny considered every human being a potential member of his emotional support staff.

Elowen took the elevator down alone.

The city outside smelled like wet stone and roasted coffee. Traffic moved lazily through narrow streets, the tires hissing over damp pavement. She kept her hands in her coat pockets and walked with her head slightly lowered against the wind.

The café was warm inside, all honey-colored wood and low lighting, with jazz playing softly beneath the hiss of the espresso machine. Elowen ordered her usual and stood near the pickup counter, scanning the small display of pastries without committing to any of them.

A man stood several feet away, waiting for his own drink.

She noticed him first because of the suit.

Not office suit. Not something bought for weddings and interviews.

This was the kind of suit that looked quiet until you realized the fabric probably cost more than her monthly rent. Charcoal wool, clean lines, no visible logo, tailored to a tall, lean frame with almost insulting precision.

He wore a black mask over the lower half of his face.

That should have made him less striking.

It didn't.

If anything, it made her look twice.

Dark hair, slightly too long at the front. Pale skin. Straight nose. Eyes a cold gray-blue beneath lashes that should have belonged to someone less intimidating. He stood completely still while everyone else shifted, checked phones, adjusted bags, tapped shoes against the floor.

He looked like the only person in the café not asking the world for permission to exist.

Elowen realized she was staring and immediately looked at the pastries with the concentration of a scholar.

"Americano with oat milk for Elowen."

She stepped forward at the same time he did.

Their hands nearly brushed over identical cups.

"Oh," she said, then laughed lightly. "Sorry."

The man looked at her.

For one suspended second, his eyes changed.

It was so brief she couldn't have explained it to anyone else. A flicker of recognition, maybe. Or surprise. Or something far more intense, gone before it could become impolite.

Then he stepped back.

"Yours," he said.

His voice was low, smooth, and controlled.

Elowen's fingers tightened around the cup.

"Thanks."

She moved aside quickly, silently congratulating herself on not saying anything idiotic, which of course meant she immediately said something idiotic.

"Good taste, apparently."

His gaze dipped to the cup in her hand.

"Oat milk Americano?"

"Yeah." She lifted it slightly. "The official drink of people who pretend they have their life together."

Something softened around his eyes.

It might have been amusement.

"It's convincing."

Elowen smiled before she could stop herself.

The moment stretched a little too long.

She broke it first, because of course she did. Pretty men in expensive suits were not part of her natural habitat.

"Well. Enjoy your convincing coffee."

"You too."

She left the café feeling oddly awake.

By the time she returned to her building, the elevator was waiting in the lobby with its doors open. Elowen stepped inside, still thinking about the stranger's voice, and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

Just as the doors began to close, a hand slipped between them.

They opened again.

The man from the café stepped inside.

Of course.

Because apparently Ravenfall City had decided to become a romance comic the moment she stopped drawing for the day.

Elowen stared at him for half a second before recovering.

"Oh. Hi again."

His eyes moved to her face, and she had the strange, immediate feeling that he had noticed everything: the wind-tangled hair near her cheek, the coffee in her hand, the fact that she was pretending not to be flustered.

"Hello."

The doors closed.

The elevator began rising.

Elowen looked at the glowing floor numbers and tried very hard to behave like a normal adult woman who did not narrate her own meet-cutes for a living.

Then she noticed he hadn't pressed a button.

"Which floor?"

"The same as yours."

Her finger hovered uselessly near the panel.

"The fourth?"

"Yes."

"Oh." She turned slightly toward him. "Are you the new neighbor?"

The question sounded brighter than intended, almost relieved. Empty apartments were worse than strangers, somehow. Empty apartments made too much room for imagination.

The man inclined his head.

"I moved in this week."

"I'm Elowen Harlow. I live next door." She smiled, friendly out of habit, shy out of instinct. "Welcome to the building."

His gaze held on her smile.

Not rudely.

Not openly.

But with a focus that made the enclosed space of the elevator feel suddenly warmer.

"Thank you," he said.

The elevator hummed softly between them.

Elowen looked away, then looked back because she couldn't help herself. He was too still. Too composed. Even masked, he had the kind of beauty that felt deliberate, like a portrait done in dark colors and expensive restraint.

"Sorry," she said, laughing under her breath. "I just realized I didn't ask your name."

His eyes remained on hers.

"Lucien Vale."

The coffee cup nearly slipped in her hand.

Elowen caught it against her coat, blinking up at him.

"Lucien?"

His attention sharpened.

"Yes."

She stared.

Then laughed once, incredulous and a little embarrassed by her own reaction.

"Sorry. That's just—wow. That's such a coincidence."

"What is?"

The question was mild.

Too mild.

Elowen shook her head quickly. "Nothing. It's just the name of someone in a game I play."

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

A game I play.

Great.

Excellent first impression.

Hi, I'm your new neighbor and I form emotional attachments to mysterious apps with fictional boys in them.

Lucien did not laugh.

He did not look confused either.

If anything, something in his gaze became quieter.

"Is it?"

"Yeah." She tucked loose hair behind her ear, feeling ridiculous. "He's also called Lucien. Lucien Vale, actually, which makes this significantly weirder."

The elevator numbers climbed...2...3...

Lucien said nothing.

Elowen glanced at him. "Sorry, that probably sounds insane."