I notice her three days later.
Not because she's loud.
Not because she's pretty.
Because she's wrong.
She's standing across the street from the convenience store where I work evenings. Just standing there. No phone. No bag. No reason to be there.
Watching.
At first, I tell myself I'm imagining it.
I'm tired. I'm paranoid. I literally broke time—of course my brain's going to act weird.
I glance down, pretend to wipe the counter, then look back up.
She's still there.
Same spot. Same posture.
Black coat. Dark hair tied loosely behind her neck. Hands in her pockets like she's waiting for something.
For someone.
A chill crawls up my spine.
"…Don't do this," I mutter to myself.
I look away again. Count to five.
When I look back—
She's gone.
I exhale. Too fast.
"See?" I whisper. "Nothing."
The bell above the door jingles.
I look up.
She's inside the store.
My heart drops straight into my stomach.
She didn't walk in. I didn't hear footsteps. Just—outside to inside. Like the space between those two moments didn't matter.
She meets my eyes.
And smiles.
Not friendly.Not cruel.
Curious.
"Hi," she says.
Her voice is calm. Almost soft. Like we're old friends.
"…Hi," I reply, a second too late.
She steps closer to the counter. Her eyes flick briefly to the clock on the wall. Then back to me.
"Long shift?" she asks.
"Uh. Yeah. I guess." My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. "What can I get you?"
She tilts her head slightly. Studying me.
"You don't remember me," she says.
My breath stutters.
"I—what?"
She blinks. Just once.
Then she laughs quietly. "Right. Of course you don't."
Every instinct in my body screams danger.
"I think you have the wrong person," I say.
"No," she replies gently. "I don't."
She reaches into her coat and pulls out a bottle of water, setting it on the counter.
I scan it automatically.
Beep.
She doesn't break eye contact.
"That'll be—" I swallow. "—one eighty."
She slides exact change across the counter.
Exact.
Not a coin more. Not a coin less.
My hands brush hers when I take it.
Cold.
Not winter cold.
More like metal that's been sitting in the shade too long.
I flinch.
She notices.
"Sorry," she says, though her expression doesn't change. "Bad circulation."
I nod. Too fast.
She takes the bottle but doesn't open it.
Instead, she leans closer and lowers her voice.
"You shouldn't rewind alone."
The world goes quiet.
No hum of the fridge. No traffic outside. No ringing in my ears.
Just her voice.
"…What?" I whisper.
Her eyes flick to the security camera in the corner. Then back to me.
"Not here," she says. "Not yet."
She straightens and steps back.
"For what it's worth," she adds, turning toward the door, "you did well saving her."
My heart slams.
"You shouldn't have been fast enough," she continues casually. "But you were."
I move without thinking.
"Who are you?" I demand.
She pauses at the door.
Doesn't turn around.
"Luna," she says.
The name hits something deep in my chest.
Not a memory.
A warning.
She glances over her shoulder, eyes sharp now. Focused.
"We'll talk again," she says. "If you survive."
Then she's gone.
The bell jingles.
I stand there, frozen, staring at the empty doorway.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Unknown Number.
Unknown Number:That was your first Executioner.
My hands shake as I read it.
Me: Executioner?
The reply comes slower than usual.
Unknown Number:She's assigned to your bloodline.
I feel sick.
Me: Assigned… to do what?
Three dots.
They linger.
Then—
Unknown Number:To erase you.
My legs give out.
I sink down behind the counter, breathing hard, heart trying to escape my ribs.
Luna.
The way she smiled.
The way she knew.
The way she said my name like she was tasting it.
Somewhere deep inside me, something twists.
Fear.
And something worse.
Interest.
"…I'm not dying," I whisper.
Not today.
Not while Mika's still alive.
Not while time still listens to me.