Chapter 5 Chapter 5
The rain didn’t stop for three days.
It came down in thin, steady lines that blurred the city’s edges until everything looked like a painting left too long in the water. People moved faster, heads down, coats drawn tight. Nina did the same, though it didn’t help. She could feel eyes even when none were there — a weight that clung to her shadow.
Each night, she checked the locks twice. Each morning, she woke certain that someone had been in the apartment while she slept. Nothing was ever missing, nothing moved, but the air felt different — touched.
On the fourth night, she dreamed of the bridge.
She stood where she’d seen him last, the river swollen beneath her, lights rippling across its surface like veins. Someone whispered her name behind her, soft as breath. When she turned, there was no one — only the black ribbon coiling around her wrist, tightening until her pulse stopped.
She woke gasping, fingers clutching the sheets, the echo of that pressure still burning on her skin.
She forced herself to return to class the next day. Routine, she told herself, would steady her. Ordinary people did ordinary things. She could, too.
But the moment she stepped onto campus, she felt it — a shift in the air, subtle and wrong.
A black car sat at the edge of the square, engine idling. The windows were tinted, the kind used to hide more than sunlight. As she walked past, the hum of the motor deepened, a vibration that settled into her bones. She didn’t look inside. She didn’t have to.
Someone inside was watching.
She ducked into the library and stayed until the sky began to dim. When she finally left, the car was gone — but a folded note lay on the seat of her bicycle.
They’re not mine.
Be careful who follows you.
Her heart slammed once, hard enough to make her knees buckle. She tore the note in half and shoved it into her pocket, trying to convince herself it was a joke, a cruel one. But there was no signature. No proof. Only that same deliberate script.
If the car wasn’t his… whose was it?
That evening, she took the long way home, through the old part of the city where the streets wound close and the river glimmered between stone walls. The rain had slowed to a mist, soft enough to feel like breath against her cheek.
She heard footsteps behind her halfway across the bridge.
Measured. Not hurried. Following her pace exactly.
Her fingers closed around her phone. The screen lit her face pale blue as she dialled Lara’s number. It rang once, twice—
“Nina?” Lara’s voice, sleepy and confused. “It’s late.”
“I just—” She glanced over her shoulder. Empty street. Only her reflection in the water. “Never mind. Sorry.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, and hung up before she could hear the worry that would make her cry.
By the time she reached her building, the footsteps were gone. Or maybe they had never been there. Her imagination was a traitor now — one she couldn’t live without.
Inside, she leaned against the door, letting her bag fall to the floor. The apartment smelled faintly of rain and paper. The book still sat on the desk where she’d left it. She couldn’t bring herself to open it again.
Instead, she poured tea, too much sugar, and stood by the window. Across the street, lights shimmered in the river, bending in the current. For a heartbeat, she almost believed she could see someone standing there — a dark outline against darker water.
When she blinked, it was gone.
Two days passed without a message. No roses. No notes. No sign of him.
The silence felt like withdrawal.
She tried to study, to focus, but her thoughts circled the same loop: He warned me about the car. Why? How did he know?
If Adrian was dangerous — and he was — why had his words sounded like protection?
She hated herself for wondering.
She hated the way relief bloomed in her chest each time she caught a shadow that might be his.
By the weekend, she couldn’t bear it anymore. The not-knowing had become worse than fear itself.
She went back to Door 17.
The key was gone, but the door wasn’t locked.
The room looked the same — empty, silent, the skylight dripping faintly onto the floorboards. The chair still sat in the centre, but the photograph was gone.
Nina turned slowly, scanning the corners.
A faint sound came from upstairs — movement, quiet but unmistakable.
“Adrian?” she whispered.
The sound stopped.
Her pulse raced. She took a step toward the staircase. The air smelled faintly of cologne, smoke, and rain — his scent, unmistakable now. She climbed the first few steps, heart pounding in her throat.
The upper floor was darker, the only light spilling from a half-open door at the end of the hall. Inside, she found an office — or what had once been one. A desk, papers scattered, an old lamp buzzing weakly.
On the desk lay another photograph.
Not of her this time.
A man in his forties, sharp suit, darker eyes. Something about the set of his jaw stirred a memory she couldn’t name.
Underneath, a name scrawled in black ink:
Viktor Marin.
And beneath that, a second line:
Don’t trust him.
The words were in Adrian’s handwriting.
A floorboard creaked behind her. She spun, breath catching.
But the hallway was empty. Only the rain outside moved.
When she left the building, night had fallen. The air felt charged, electric.
As she turned onto the main street, headlights flared — the same black car sliding out from the shadows to block her path.
The driver’s window lowered halfway. She couldn’t see the man inside, only the glint of a cigarette as he spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Nina froze. “Who are you?”
A pause, then: “He told you to stay away, didn’t he?”
“Who?”
The man exhaled smoke, the shape of it curling into the rain. “You don’t know what you’ve walked into. Go home, Miss Kralj. Forget you ever saw him.”
Her mouth went dry. “You know his name.”
“Everyone who matters knows his name.”
He reached for something on the seat beside him — a small envelope — and tossed it through the open window. It landed at her feet, already beading with rain.
“Don’t open it here,” he said. “And don’t come back.”
The car rolled away before she could speak.
At home, she tore the envelope open with shaking hands. Inside was a single page — a list of names, each neatly typed, each followed by a date.
Most were crossed out in red ink.
Near the bottom, one name wasn’t.
Nina Kralj.
Besides, a date three days from now.
Her knees buckled. The paper slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor like a fallen leaf.
In the distance, thunder cracked over the river.
She grabbed her phone, scrolled through her messages, half expecting another warning from the unknown number.
Nothing.
Then, just as she set the phone down, it buzzed.
Unknown: You shouldn’t have gone there.
Stay inside tonight.
Please.
Her throat tightened. For the first time, the word please appeared.
It didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a promise breaking.
She stayed awake until dawn, watching the street through the rain.
When morning came, she finally saw it — parked at the far end of the block, silent and waiting.
The same black car.
And beside it, standing in the mist, Adrian.
He didn’t move. Didn’t wave. Just watched, as if waiting for her to decide whether to run or open the door.
For the first time, she didn’t know which would be more dangerous.