Chapter 7 ECHOES
The smile froze her in place.
It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t mocking either. It was calm, the kind of calm that said I know something you don’t.
Lora’s fingers tightened on her bag strap. Her first thought was to call Steve. Her second was that whoever this man was, he’d been there when Steve messaged her — which meant he could be watching both of them.
She turned away, quick but steady, walking down the street like she had somewhere to be. Her reflection followed in the dark shop windows. The rain came down soft and sharp, slicing the light into pieces.
Footsteps followed.
Not running. Just following.
Her heart began to drum, fast but even. She didn’t look back. She turned right, crossed toward the subway entrance, then cut suddenly left into an alley between two buildings. The footsteps grew louder.
At the end of the alley, a door stood half open — staff entrance for a bakery she knew. The smell of dough and sugar drifted out. She slipped inside, pressed her back to the cold wall, and held her breath.
The footsteps stopped outside.
For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then the sound of shoes scraping against wet pavement. A shadow passed over the light spilling under the door.
Lora didn’t move.
The bakery kitchen was dark except for the oven’s low glow. Trays clattered faintly somewhere deeper in. She crouched behind a rack, pulling out her phone.
I think someone’s following me again, she typed. Same man. I saw him when I left the restaurant.
No reply.
She tried again. Steve, please answer.
Still nothing.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste metal. Her pulse thudded in her throat.
Then, the door opened.
She ducked lower, hiding behind a stack of flour bags. The hinges groaned softly. A pair of shoes stopped just inside — polished, black, wrong for this place.
Lora clamped her hand over her mouth.
The man waited, listening. The silence stretched so thin she could hear her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back and the door swung shut again.
She stayed still for a full minute before she dared to breathe. When she finally straightened, her knees trembled.
Her phone buzzed. Steve.
Where are you?
She exhaled shakily and typed back. Bakery on Second, near the rooftop place. He followed me. I hid inside.
The reply came fast. Stay there. Don’t go out until I come.
She stared at the message. He shouldn’t come. That was her first thought. If this was dangerous, he’d only draw attention. But before she could argue, another text appeared.
Please, Lora. Just stay put.
So she did.
Ten minutes. Fifteen.
When the door opened again, it wasn’t the man in the coat. It was Steve — breathless, hair damp, tie gone. He looked around, then saw her crouched near the counter.
“Are you okay?” he said, voice low.
She nodded, trying not to shake. “He was right outside.”
Steve’s jaw set. “He’s gone now. I checked both streets.”
“You saw him?”
“No. But someone did.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, showing a photo a guard at the building next door had sent. A blurry figure, same coat, same stance.
Lora frowned. “Who is he?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her again. “You shouldn’t have walked alone.”
“You told me to leave separately.”
“That was before I knew he’d follow you.”
His frustration sounded too close to guilt. She reached out, touching his sleeve. “Steve. You’re not responsible for—”
He caught her hand. Not tight, just steady. “Yes, I am.”
The words landed heavier than she expected.
He looked at her like there was more he wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, he let go, glanced toward the window. “We should get you home.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
That made him smile, tired but real. “Fair point.”
They slipped out through the side door into the narrow lane behind the bakery. The street was empty now, washed clean by rain.
Steve walked her to the taxi stand. The driver eyed them through the mirror as they climbed in — one soaked, one pale, both too quiet.
When they reached her building, Steve paid before she could argue.
“Tomorrow,” he said, stepping out first. “I’ll send someone to check your place.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is.” His tone left no room for refusal. “This isn’t random, Lora. Be careful.”
She wanted to ask what he meant — what wasn’t random — but the taxi door closed before she could.
He waited until she reached the lobby before turning to go.
The apartment felt smaller that night. She locked every window, checked twice. Her phone stayed on the table beside the bed, screen dim, waiting.
But sleep didn’t come easy. Every sound in the hallway made her flinch.
When she finally drifted off, she dreamed of the man in the coat standing at the edge of a crowd, smiling while everyone else turned away.
Morning came gray and thin.
At the agency, Lora tried to bury herself in work. Event budgets, seating charts, sponsorship drafts. The normal noise of deadlines helped for a while.
Then a courier arrived with an envelope. No sender name. Just her first name written in careful ink.
She opened it slowly. Inside was a single photo.
The shot was from the night before — her standing by the bakery door, Steve a few steps behind her.
Her breath caught.
On the back, one line was written.
You’re in over your head, Miss Jung.
The phone rang. She jumped. It was Steve.
“Don’t panic,” he said the moment she answered. His voice was lower, faster. “Did you get something delivered?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t read it.”
“I already did.”
Silence. Then, “I was afraid of that.”
“Who is this?” she demanded. “What’s happening, Steve?”
He hesitated. “I can’t explain everything yet. Just trust me. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“Steve—”
“I’ll come by tonight.”
The line went dead.
Lora sat still for a long time, the photo trembling in her hands. The edges were sharp enough to sting.
When she finally looked out the window, her stomach dropped.
Across the street, the same black sedan she’d seen at the gala idled by the curb. No plates she could read.
And through the windshield, a shape moved — the faint outline of a face watching her window.
She stepped back from the glass, heart pounding.
The phone buzzed again.
A new message from an unknown number.
He can’t protect you, Lora.
Her fingers went cold. She typed before she could stop herself. Who is this? What do you want?
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.
The screen stayed blank for a full minute before a final line appeared.
Meet me tonight. Or you’ll never know who you’re really working for.
The message ended there.
Lora stared at it until her reflection blurred against the glass. The car outside was gone.
And for the first time, she wondered if the danger wasn’t coming from Steve’s world at all — but from her own.