Chapter Seven - Eden
I wake up exhausted from a night of half-formed dreams and too many questions. The apartment feels too small, my thoughts too loud, and I’m tired of jumping at shadows every time I step outside.
Routine has become a cage—familiar, suffocating, predictable in all the wrong ways. Maybe if I change something, anything, the paranoia will ease.
So I pick a new place. A café near the river, tucked between an art gallery and a bookstore I’ve never been inside. It’s quiet on weekdays, peaceful, a place people go to disappear into their work.
Perfect.
I take the long route, weaving through quieter streets, clutching my notebook in both hands like it might anchor me. The city air is crisp, and the sound of the river softens the usual chaos. For the first time in days, I feel a hint of relief.
Then I see him.
Simon is seated at a table outside the café, a sleek cup of coffee in front of him, his attention fixed on something he’s reading.
He’s dressed sharply—a dark coat, crisp shirt beneath, sleeves pushed to his forearms. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread titled Men You Should Not Underestimate. Controlled. Composed. Untouchable.
My heart stumbles painfully against my ribs.
He doesn’t look up, but I feel him notice me. His posture shifts the tiniest degree, barely noticeable to anyone who isn’t watching, but I am. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be.
I freeze halfway up the steps leading to the café door.
He pretends not to see me.
Something in the air snaps tight between us, a thread I can’t name.
No. I can’t do this today. I turn to leave, hoping I can slip away quietly, but I barely take two steps before he rises from his seat. Not abruptly. Not aggressively. Just smoothly enough that his presence blocks the narrow path without ever touching me.
“Eden.”
My name in his voice is a low hum—polite on the surface, solid steel beneath.
I stop. Slowly, I turn back toward him. “Hi.”
His expression is warm in a way that doesn’t match the sharpness in his eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I—uh—wanted a change of scenery.”
“A change,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word. “Interesting.”
I swallow hard. Something about the way he looks at me feels too precise, too knowing. “Yes. I needed something… quieter.”
His gaze sweeps subtly over my face, lingering on the faint shadows under my eyes, the tension in my shoulders. “You’ve been uneasy.”
My breath snags. “Everyone gets uneasy.”
“Not like this.”
The simple certainty in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. I want to step back, but somehow stepping back feels like giving something away.
He gestures toward his table with a small incline of his head. “Will you join me for a moment?”
Every instinct screams no, but refusing feels dangerous in its own way. Walking away when he’s standing this close feels impossible.
“Just for a few minutes,” I say softly.
He moves aside, letting me pass, and I take the seat across from him. The river breeze cools my skin, but his presence heats the space between us, thick with something I can’t define.
He sits again, folding his hands neatly on the table. “You’re far from your usual research area.”
My fingers tighten on my notebook. “How do you know where I usually go?”
His smile is small, infuriatingly calm. “You mentioned you work near campus.”
“That doesn’t mean you know my routes.”
“True, but you don’t strike me as someone who wanders aimlessly.”
I blink. He’s right, but the knowledge sits uneasily in my stomach. It feels like he’s been watching me without watching me. Like he’s collecting pieces of me I didn’t mean to leave out.
I force myself to breathe. “I guess I needed a break. Somewhere less crowded.”
“So you came here.” His eyes soften a fraction as he looks around. “It fits you.”
That catches me off guard—those quiet words, said with something dangerously close to sincerity. I don’t know how to receive it.
“You’re observant,” he adds. “More than most.”
“I study people. It’s part of my work.”
His gaze drops to my notebook, then lifts again. “It’s also part of who you are.”
Heat creeps up my neck. No one has ever said it like that—like it’s not a habit, but a fundamental truth.
“So,” I say, trying to steady my voice, “do you come here often?”
A faint smile curves his lips. “Only when I have a reason.”
Something in my chest tightens. “You have a reason today?”
His eyes lock with mine—steady, consuming, unreadable. “Today,” he says, “I didn’t realize I needed one.”
I swallow, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, my breath, any part of myself. Simon is dangerous in ways I don’t have language for, but sitting across from him… something in me steadies. It makes no sense. He is the last person who should feel grounding.
There’s a softness in him I catch in flickers—when his eyes linger too long on my face, when his voice dips without edge, when he watches me like he’s memorizing each reaction. It’s subtle, barely there, but I feel it like warmth leaking through cracks in a wall.
It scares me more than his coldness, because cold I can interpret. Cold I can avoid.
This—this strange, careful curiosity—it pulls at something deep inside me, something I didn’t know could be touched.
I don’t trust him. I shouldn’t. Yet… I can’t look away.
I clear my throat, gathering what little composure I have left. “I should get back to work,” I say, though my voice comes out softer than planned. “I really only meant to stop by for a quick break.”
Simon nods. It’s not a dismissal, not quite permission. More like he’s choosing to release a hold he never physically took. “Of course,” he murmurs. “You have things to do.”
There’s something in the way he says it—gentle on the surface, edged with something deeper—that sends a prickle down my arms.
I rise from my seat, clutching my notebook like a shield. His gaze lifts with me. It rests on my face, then drops briefly to my hands before returning to my eyes. That look alone feels like a touch, unsettling and quiet and somehow… searching.
“Thank you for the conversation,” I say. My voice wavers, betraying the swirl inside me.
He leans back slightly, studying me with that same unreadable intensity. “The pleasure was mine, Eden.”
My breath stutters at the way he says my name—smooth, confident, almost intimate. I turn before it can affect me more than it already has. My steps start out steady, but by the time I’m halfway down the block, my heartbeat pushes up into my throat.
Don’t look back. I’m afraid of what I’ll see, I’m afraid of what I’ll want to see.
A few seconds later, instinct wins. I glance over my shoulder.
Simon still sits at the café table, body angled just enough to follow my movement. He doesn’t pretend to look away. He watches me openly, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on me with a focus that feels too sharp, too weighted, too knowing.
The distance between us does nothing to dilute the pull.
I turn again, this time faster, breath catching in short bursts. The river wind hits my face, cold and salty, but it’s not enough to cool the warmth crawling through my chest.
Why does being seen by him feel like this? Why do I feel pulled toward someone I should fear?
He’s dangerous. Every instinct whispers that truth over and over. But danger hasn’t stopped the curiosity building inside me—slow, quiet, insistent. A curiosity I don’t want to acknowledge but can’t deny.
When I finally round the corner, leaving the café behind, I stop again. My heart pounds so loudly I press a hand to my ribs as though that could quiet it.
I walk several more blocks, trying to settle myself with the rhythm of my footsteps, the murmur of cars, the sound of the river fading behind me. My thoughts should be on work. On safety. On the horrible thing I witnessed days ago.
Instead, every rhythm in my body echoes with the memory of Simon’s gaze lingering, calm but consuming.
The farther I move, the more I try to convince myself that what happened was coincidence. That he just happened to be there. That I’m reading too much into the moment.
Except instinct whispers the truth. Simon doesn’t do anything by accident, and he definitely wasn’t at that café by chance.
The sky darkens as I turn onto a quieter street. My pulse finally settles, though the lingering warmth beneath my skin refuses to fade. I tighten my grip on my bag and steady my breath.
I need distance. I need clarity. I need to stop letting a stranger—one with danger in his eyes and secrets in every carefully measured word—get into my head.
The pull remains.
When I reach the next main road, I force myself not to look back again. I keep walking, footsteps steady, shoulders squared, pretending I’m unaffected.
Pretending the encounter didn’t set off something deep in my chest. The traffic buzzes loud enough to drown my thoughts for a moment, and I cling to it—noise feels safer than silence right now.
My phone buzzes. Suzy.
Where are you? I’m near your place. Thought we could grab dinner.
I inhale slowly, letting the normalcy of her text sink into me like a lifeline.
On my way. Ten minutes.
Her reply pops up instantly.
Good. You’re acting weird. Tell me everything.
I almost laugh. Leave it to Suzy to bulldoze her way through my emotional barricades with a single sentence.
By the time I reach my building, she’s leaning against the lobby wall, scrolling through her phone. Her expression lifts the second she sees me.
“You look like you’ve been chased by a ghost,” she says.
“Very funny,” I mutter, slipping past her toward the elevator.
She follows, nudging my shoulder. “Okay, seriously. What happened? You’ve been off all week. And don’t say it’s school stress, because I’ve seen you during finals. That was worse.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie as the elevator doors close.
She snorts. “You’re a terrible liar.”
The elevator hums as it rises. I stare at the floor numbers, wishing the ride were longer so I’d have more time to come up with an explanation that doesn’t involve a dangerous man with eyes like ice and a presence that sticks to my skin.
When we reach my floor, we step into the hallway, and I finally exhale. “I met someone,” I say before I can stop myself.
Suzy’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh? Oh? Eden, that’s usually something people lead with.”
“It’s not like that,” I insist, unlocking my door. “I’ve run into him a few times. Accidentally.”
She steps inside and kicks her shoes off, giving me that look—the one that says she’s already imagining a romance montage. “Is he cute?”
“Suzy.”
“Hot?”
I close the door behind us. “He’s… intense.”
She squints at me, turning serious. “Intense how? Like, academic intense, or the other kind?”
“The other kind.”
She flops onto my couch. “Okay, spill. What’s his name?”
“Simon.”
“And?”
“And nothing. We talked for a few minutes.”
“So where’s the panic coming from?”
I hesitate. My fingers tighten around my bag strap. “He’s… I don’t know. Confusing.”
Her head tilts. “Confusing how?”
I sit across from her, smoothing my palms over my knees. “He feels… familiar. Like I’ve been near him before without realizing it. And when he looks at me, it’s like he’s seeing too much.”
Her face softens. “Do you feel unsafe with him?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Think.
“No,” I answer slowly. “Not unsafe. Just… on edge.”
Suzy sighs, leaning back. “Eden, maybe you’re attracted to him and your brain doesn’t know what to do with that.”
I bury my face in my hands. “God, no. That’s not it.”
But even as I say it, the memory of Simon’s gaze—steady, consuming—flares in my mind. My cheeks warm despite myself.
Suzy watches me carefully. “You’ve got to be careful, okay? New York is full of strange people. Just… don’t get pulled into something without knowing what it is.”
I nod, but my heartbeat answers differently, because something already has its pull on me.
I don’t know how to step away.