Adam El Khatib didn't believe in premonitions.
Not in the mystical sense people liked to romanticize, anyway. No visions, no destiny, no invisible threads pulling lives toward inevitable ends. He believed in patterns. Cause and effect. Things you could explain if you looked closely enough.
That belief lasted exactly three seconds after he saw the knife.
It wasn't real. Not yet.
But it was there—clear as daylight, cutting through the noise of the evening like it didn't belong to the same world. A flicker inside his head. A man's hand, tense, gripping the handle too tightly. The blade catching light. A sudden movement forward.
Adam stopped walking.
The crowd around him didn't.
Voices overlapped—Arabic, French, laughter, bargaining, someone shouting about fresh orange juice. Smoke curled into the air, thick with spices and grilled meat. The square was alive, pulsing, unaware.
Normal.
Too normal.
Adam blinked hard.
The image didn't disappear.
It sharpened.
A second flash—closer this time.
The man again. Different angle. Running now. Someone screaming behind him. A table overturned. Glass shattering across stone.
Adam inhaled sharply.
"…not again."
He pressed his fingers against his temple like he could physically push the vision out. It didn't work. It never worked. The more he resisted, the more detail it gained, like his mind was punishing him for doubting it.
A third flash.
Blood.
Not much. Just enough to stain the edge of the blade. Too bright under the lantern light.
Adam's stomach tightened.
This wasn't imagination. It never felt like imagination. There was weight to it. Texture. The kind of detail you don't invent—you remember.
That thought made his chest go cold.
Remember.
From where?
A shoulder slammed into him.
"Watch it!" someone snapped in French.
Adam staggered slightly, pulled back into the present. The vision flickered, unstable now, like a signal breaking apart.
For a second—just a second—it was gone.
The square rushed back in.
Music. Heat. Movement.
He could leave.
That option presented itself clearly, almost gently.
Walk away. Go home. Pretend nothing happened.
He had done it before.
Hadn't he?
Adam swallowed.
No.
No, that wasn't right.
The certainty slipped through his fingers the moment he tried to hold onto it. Something about that thought felt… rehearsed. Like a line he had told himself too many times.
He turned slowly, scanning the crowd.
If the vision was real—if it was going to happen—then the man with the knife was already here.
Somewhere.
Waiting.
Adam's heartbeat picked up.
This was the part that always got him.
The moment before.
The fragile edge where everything could still be changed.
Or made worse.
He moved.
Not fast. Not reckless. Just enough to weave through people without drawing attention. His eyes tracked every hand, every sudden movement, every face that looked slightly too tense, too focused.
Tourists. Vendors. Locals sitting on low stools, talking like nothing in the world could interrupt them.
Normal.
All of it normal.
Which meant the wrong thing would stand out.
It had to.
Another flicker.
Closer.
Adam stopped again.
There.
A man near one of the food stalls. Mid-thirties, maybe. Dark jacket despite the heat. His posture slightly off—too rigid, like he was holding himself together by force.
Adam watched him.
The man wasn't doing anything.
Not yet.
But his hand—
His hand was inside his jacket.
Adam's pulse spiked.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath. "Okay, think."
If he approached him directly, he could be wrong. He had been wrong before. Not about the visions themselves—but about what they meant. Acting too early, too aggressively… it never ended well.
But if he waited—
A scream echoed faintly in his memory.
Not in the square.
In his head.
Adam clenched his jaw.
No time.
He stepped forward.
One step.
Two.
The man shifted.
Not much. Just enough for Adam to see the outline beneath the fabric.
A shape that didn't belong.
The vision snapped into focus.
Running. Shouting. Blood.
Adam moved faster.
"Hey—!"
The word left his mouth before he could stop it.
The man's head turned sharply.
Their eyes met.
And something passed between them.
Recognition.
Adam froze.
No.
That wasn't possible.
They had never met.
Had they?
The man's expression changed.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Something worse.
He knew him.
"How—" Adam started.
The man pulled the knife.
Reality shattered.
People screamed. Someone dropped a tray. Metal clanged against stone. The careful illusion of normality collapsed in an instant.
The man lunged.
Not at the crowd.
At Adam.
Time stretched.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
Adam saw it—felt it—down to the bone. The vision didn't match this. The angles were wrong. The timing off. This wasn't prevention.
This was deviation.
"Wait—!"
Too late.
Adam stumbled back, barely avoiding the first strike. The blade cut through air where his chest had been a second ago. Close enough for him to feel it.
The man didn't hesitate.
He attacked again.
Faster this time.
Like he had done this before.
Adam's mind raced.
This was wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
"You're—" the man started, breath uneven, eyes locked onto him. "You're not supposed to—"
He cut himself off.
His grip tightened.
Rage flooded his face.
"You always ruin it."
Adam's heart skipped.
"What?"
The knife came down.
Adam reacted on instinct, grabbing the man's wrist mid-swing. The impact sent a sharp jolt up his arm. Stronger than he expected. Desperate.
They struggled.
Close now. Too close.
Adam could see the details—the sweat on his skin, the tremor in his muscles, the raw intensity in his eyes.
And beneath it all—
Fear.
Not of being caught.
Of him.
"You remember," the man whispered.
It wasn't a question.
Adam's breath caught.
"I don't even know who you are!"
"Liar."
The word came out broken. Almost pleading.
Around them, chaos spread. People running, shouting, trying to get away. But it felt distant. Irrelevant.
This moment swallowed everything.
The man leaned in, voice dropping to something only Adam could hear.
"You never remember at first," he said. "But you will."
A chill ran down Adam's spine.
"What are you talking about—"
The man twisted suddenly, breaking Adam's grip just enough to pull back.
Then—
He smiled.
Not wide. Not dramatic.
Just enough to make Adam's blood run cold.
"Too late," he said.
And then he ran.
Not away from the crowd.
Through it.
Disappearing into the chaos like he had never been there.
Adam stood frozen.
His hand still raised.
His heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
Around him, the square slowly began to stabilize. People murmuring, confused, shaken—but alive.
No blood.
No bodies.
Nothing like the vision.
Adam looked down at his hands.
They were shaking.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
It wasn't prevention.
It wasn't success.
It felt like—
A mistake.
A familiar one.
And for the first time since the visions started—
Adam wasn't afraid of what might happen next.
He was afraid…
Because it felt like it already had.