London didn't welcome me this time.
It watched.
—
Not in any obvious way. No eyes tracking me from rooftops. No shadows stretching too long behind corners.
Just… a feeling.
Subtle. Intelligent.
Like something had shifted in the equation, and I was the variable being recalculated.
—
I walked anyway.
Same streets. Same rhythm. Same quiet hum of a city that never asks questions.
But I was asking them now.
Too many.
—
"She wasn't supposed to be real."
—
The words had changed shape.
At first, they were a warning.
Now… they were a problem.
—
Because if she wasn't supposed to be real…
Then something had gone wrong.
—
Or right.
—
I reached the street where the pub sat.
Same corner. Same windows. Same ordinary existence.
Nothing about it suggested anything unusual had ever happened inside it.
—
And yet…
Everything had.
—
I stepped in.
—
Warmth.
Coffee.
Voices.
—
Normal.
Too normal.
—
My eyes scanned the room automatically.
Not for danger.
For her.
—
She wasn't there.
—
I checked the time.
I wasn't early.
I wasn't late.
I was… exactly when I said I'd be.
—
That didn't feel right.
—
I sat anyway.
Same table as before.
Ordered coffee.
Waited.
—
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.
—
My mind didn't panic.
It calculated.
—
Possibility one: she's late.
Unlikely. She doesn't seem like the type.
—
Possibility two: something came up.
Reasonable.
—
Possibility three…
—
I stopped that one before it formed fully.
—
My phone buzzed.
—
Her name.
—
I picked it up immediately.
—
Don't come to the pub today.
—
I stared at it.
—
No explanation.
No context.
Just… instruction.
—
Why? I typed.
—
Three dots.
Then—
Just trust me.
—
I leaned back slowly.
—
Trust.
—
Interesting word.
—
Where are you?
—
Pause. Longer this time.
—
Not somewhere you should be.
—
My jaw tightened slightly.
—
That wasn't like her.
—
Rebecca.
I typed her name deliberately.
What's going on?
—
No reply.
—
Seconds passed.
Then a full minute.
—
Nothing.
—
I stood up.
Coffee untouched.
—
Something was wrong.
Not dramatic. Not chaotic.
Just… wrong.
—
The door opened as I stepped out.
Cold air again.
Sharper this time.
—
My phone buzzed again.
—
Not her.
—
Daniel.
—
I answered immediately.
"Talk."
—
"You need to leave that area."
—
My eyes narrowed slightly.
—
"Why?"
—
A pause.
—
"Because you're not the only one who came back to London."
—
The words landed quietly.
—
"Explain."
—
"Your father made a call after you left."
—
Of course he did.
—
"What kind of call?"
—
"The kind that doesn't get written down."
—
I exhaled slowly.
—
"What did he do?"
—
"He didn't trust your decision."
—
That didn't surprise me.
—
"So?"
—
"So he sent people."
—
My gaze sharpened.
—
"For me?"
—
"Yes."
—
A pause.
—
"And for her."
—
Everything shifted.
—
"Where is she?"
—
"We're trying to track that."
—
"Trying?"
—
"That's the problem."
—
Silence.
—
"She's off-grid," Daniel continued.
"No phone signal. No predictable movement. Nothing."
—
That wasn't normal.
—
"She doesn't do that," I said.
—
"I know."
—
My mind moved fast now.
Replaying everything.
Her message.
Don't come to the pub.
Just trust me.
—
She knew.
—
"How?" I asked quietly.
—
"We don't know."
—
That wasn't acceptable.
—
"She wasn't supposed to be real."
—
The phrase echoed again.
But now…
It sounded different.
—
Like it wasn't just about her.
—
"Daniel."
—
"Yes?"
—
"Who else knows about this?"
—
A pause.
—
"Theodore."
—
"And?"
—
"Your father."
—
"Anyone outside the family?"
—
Silence.
Too long.
—
"Daniel."
—
"We're not sure."
—
That was worse than yes.
—
I started walking.
Faster now.
No destination. Just movement.
—
"Lock down everything on your end," I said.
"No external access. No leaks. No visibility."
—
"Already in progress."
—
"Good."
—
I hung up.
—
My thoughts didn't slow.
They sharpened.
Focused.
—
If she disappeared…
It wasn't random.
—
If my father sent people…
It wasn't just control.
—
There was something else here.
Something I hadn't seen yet.
—
And she saw it first.
—
That bothered me.
—
I turned a corner.
Stopped.
—
Think.
—
She told me not to go to the pub.
Which means…
Someone might be watching it.
—
Or waiting.
—
Which means…
They expect me to go there.
—
So she redirected me.
—
Smart.
—
Too smart.
—
I frowned slightly.
—
Who are you, Rebecca?
—
My phone buzzed again.
—
Her.
—
I answered this time.
Didn't wait.
—
"Where are you?"
—
Silence on the other end.
Breathing.
—
Then—
"You shouldn't have come back."
—
Her voice was different.
Lower. Tighter.
Controlled… but strained.
—
"That wasn't the plan," I said.
—
"I know."
—
A pause.
—
"Tell me where you are."
—
"No."
—
My grip tightened slightly.
—
"That's not how this works."
—
"That's exactly how this works now."
—
Silence.
—
"You're in danger," she said quietly.
—
"I've been in danger before."
—
"This is different."
—
"How?"
—
Another pause.
Longer.
—
"Because this time… you don't know who's on your side."
—
That landed.
—
I didn't respond immediately.
Because she was right.
—
"Start talking," I said.
—
"You need to leave London."
—
"No."
—
"Gregory—"
—
"No."
—
My voice was calm.
But final.
—
"I'm not leaving without you."
—
Silence.
—
Then a quiet exhale.
—
"You don't get to decide that."
—
"I already did."
—
Another pause.
—
"Why?" she asked.
—
That question again.
—
But this time…
The answer came easier.
—
"Because whatever this is… it's not finished."
—
Silence.
—
"And because I trust you," I added.
—
That one surprised even me.
—
She didn't reply immediately.
—
When she did…
Her voice had changed.
Softer.
—
"You shouldn't."
—
"Too late."
—
A small pause.
—
Then—
"Fine."
—
My focus sharpened instantly.
—
"There's a place," she said.
"Old bookstore. Two streets down from the station. Closed now."
—
"I know it."
—
"Be there in twenty minutes."
—
"I'll be there in ten."
—
"No," she said quickly.
"Twenty."
—
I paused.
—
"Why?"
—
"Because if you're being followed… I need time to know."
—
I exhaled slowly.
—
"Fine."
—
"Come alone."
—
"I already am."
—
Another pause.
—
"Gregory…"
—
"Yes?"
—
"If something feels wrong…"
—
"I'll leave."
—
"…no," she said quietly.
"If something feels wrong… trust it."
—
The line went dead.
—
I stood there for a second.
—
Then I smiled.
—
Not because this was under control.
Not because I understood what was happening.
—
But because for the first time…
This felt like something real.
Messy. Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
—
And hers.
—
I started walking.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
—
Twenty minutes.
—
Plenty of time to think.
—
Too much time.
—
"She wasn't supposed to be real."
—
And yet…
Here she was.
Leading.
Deciding.
Controlling something I couldn't see.
—
The thought should've unsettled me.
—
It didn't.
—
It pulled me deeper.
—
Into something I wasn't sure I could step out of anymore.