Chapter 6 SHADOWS
The phone felt heavier than it should.
Lora lowered it slowly; eyes locked on the man across the street.
He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just standing there. A coat, a hat pulled low, hands in pockets. But he wasn’t waiting for the light or looking at the shops. He was looking at her. Only her.
She stepped back, pulse thudding in her ears. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe he was staring through her at something behind. The thought didn’t stick. She knew what attention felt like. This wasn’t casual.
The screen dimmed in her hand. No new messages from Steve. The typing bubble had gone.
She turned, slipped into the first café she saw, pushing through the door so fast the bell overhead clanged twice. Warm air hit her face, carrying the smell of coffee and sugar.
“Welcome,” someone said, but she just nodded and headed for a corner table. From there she could still see the street through the rain-smeared window. The man hadn’t moved.
Lora sat down, heartbeat tapping out its own rhythm. She unlocked her phone again.
Nothing.
Then she typed, fingers shaking just enough to make the letters blur.
You said you needed help. What happened?
Sent.
No answer.
She stared at the screen until the words felt unreal.
A barista approached. “Miss? Would you like—”
“Water,” Lora said quickly. “Just water, please.”
He nodded and walked off.
Her reflection in the window looked pale, uncertain. Behind it, the man stepped closer to the curb. The light flicked green. He didn’t cross. He just stood there.
Lora’s chest tightened. She reached for her phone again, started to type another message, then froze when the device buzzed in her hand.
Steve.
Sorry, got caught in a meeting. Tonight, still good for you? 8 p.m.?
She exhaled so sharply she almost laughed. Her fingers flew. Yes. Where?
He replied fast this time. Arbor Rooftop, Myeong Dong. It’s quiet there.
She typed, okay, and pressed send. Relief washed through her, light but fleeting. When she looked up again, the man was gone.
She stayed a few minutes longer just to be sure, drinking her water in small sips, pretending to scroll through her phone. The café had started to fill with people; the hum of chatter wrapped around her like a shield.
When she finally stepped outside again, the street felt ordinary. Just traffic and umbrellas and the faint smell of roasted chestnuts from a corner cart.
Maybe she was tired. Maybe the whole thing had been nerves dressed as danger.
Still, she checked behind her three times on the walk back to the office.
By the time evening came, she’d convinced herself it was fine. It had to be.
She changed into a navy dress and a coat that looked warmer than it was. No makeup, just gloss and the hope that calm counted as confidence.
So-ra watched her from the couch, popcorn bowl in hand. “You’re meeting him,” she said flatly.
“I told you; it’s work.”
“Right. That’s why you changed outfits twice.”
“Twice is restraint.”
So-ra grinned. “Text me when you get there. And if he turns out to be secretly married or secretly boring, I expect a full report.”
Lora smiled. “Deal.”
She left before she could change her mind.
The rooftop restaurant was quiet just like he’d promised. Strings of low lights ran across the ceiling, their glow soft against glass and rain. A heater hummed in the corner. Most of the tables were empty.
Steve was already there. Jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loosened — the picture of control with the edges slightly undone.
He stood when he saw her. “You came.”
“You asked.”
He smiled at that. “You always had a good answer ready.”
The waiter drifted by, took their order, and disappeared again. Silence settled in the space between them, not awkward, just fragile.
“You said you needed help,” she said finally. “What’s going on?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s not something I want to talk about over the phone. Or inside the foundation.”
She waited.
He hesitated, glancing toward the glass where rain streaked down like ink. “Someone’s been following me. Or maybe following my father. I’m not sure which.”
Her throat went dry. “Following you?”
“Yes. For a week now. Maybe longer.”
He looked up, and the humor that usually softened his eyes was gone. “You think I sound paranoid, don’t you?”
“I think you sound careful,” she said.
He nodded once. “Tonight I noticed a car outside my building again. Same one as last night. Black sedan. No plates I could read.”
Lora felt the air thin. She almost told him about the man from earlier but stopped. He didn’t need more fear. Not yet.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Keep your eyes open. At the gala, especially. My father doesn’t believe me, and my mother refuses to admit it might be real. But you notice things others miss.”
The compliment hit something tender in her. “Alright.”
Their food arrived. Neither touched it.
He leaned back, watching her. “You’ve changed.”
“So have you.”
“Maybe not enough.” His tone was quiet, meant for her alone.
She wanted to ask what he meant, but the words tangled in her chest. Instead, she reached for her glass, fingers brushing the condensation.
When she finally found her voice, it came out steady. “If you think someone’s watching you, maybe don’t meet people in open rooftops.”
“I needed to see you in the open,” he said. “No walls. No ears.”
“Paranoid again?”
“Practical,” he corrected.
She almost smiled.
Then his gaze flicked past her shoulder, and his face changed.
Lora froze. “What?”
“Don’t turn,” he said softly.
Her pulse stumbled. “Steve—”
“Just—stay still.”
The air between them stretched thin as wire.
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a phone, and typed something quickly. Her own phone buzzed a second later.
She looked down. A new message from him.
Don’t panic. Someone’s been watching you too.
She felt her stomach drop.
Very slowly, she lifted her eyes, trying to keep her face calm. His gaze told her what she already knew — whoever it was, they were close.
“Steve,” she whispered, “what do we do?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We act normal. And then we leave. Separately.”
The waiter passed behind her, refilling glasses. For a second she dared to hope that was all he’d seen — just a waiter, just routine.
But Steve’s jaw tightened. “He’s gone now,” he murmured. “I think.”
“Think?”
He didn’t answer.
Lora’s appetite had vanished. She pushed her plate aside. The rain had picked up, harder now, beating against the glass in steady percussion.
When the bill came, Steve reached for it, but she stopped him with a shake of her head. “I’ll pay my part.”
“Still stubborn,” he said quietly.
“Still fair,” she replied.
They walked toward the elevator together, but he stopped before the doors opened. “Take the next one,” he said. “Wait three minutes before you go.”
“Steve—”
“Please.”
She nodded.
He stepped in, the doors sliding shut between them.
Lora waited. Three minutes felt like thirty. When she finally descended, the lobby was nearly empty.
She pushed open the glass door to the street — and froze.
Across the road, under a flickering streetlight, the same man from the morning stood waiting.
This time, he smiled.
