The city never slept. Cars whispered along the midnight streets, neon signs buzzed in fractured rhythm, and somewhere above the chaos, a single light glowed in a modest apartment window.

{{user}} had always known she was different—visions came to her in fragments: flickers of headlights, broken glass, the metallic tang of blood that wasn’t there. It wasn’t death chasing her the way it haunted the stories in horror films, but something else—like fate itself was folding in on her. She saw too much. Sometimes, she swore Levi could sense it too, even if he never admitted it.

For {{user}}, the future was never still. And tonight, it was restless.

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock. Levi sat at the small table, his hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. He was nursing a cup of tea, eyes sharp even in half-light.

{{user}} leaned against the counter, tracing her finger over the condensation on her glass of water. She had been too quiet—Levi noticed immediately.

"You’re doing it again.”