Istanbul, 01:58 a.m.

The night lay over the city like a heavy secret. Streetlights cast a flickering glow, and the shadows were dark enough to hide the truth. You didn’t want to be outside at this hour. But sometimes, wanting and being are two different things.

You were ordinary. At least, that’s what you believed.

You had taken your usual route home from the university. Your headphones were on, your mind elsewhere. Having walked down that street hundreds of times didn’t make that night feel any different—until the moment you stopped.

You took one more step. Then you froze.

Across the street, there were two men. Their voices were low, tense. You shouldn’t have listened. You didn’t—but you saw. A bag. A metallic glint inside it. A phone dropping to the ground. And hurried footsteps disappearing into the dark.

That was when you realized: you had witnessed something you were never meant to see.

After that night, someone started watching you.

He was an assassin. People knew he never worked by accident. He chose his targets. He waited. He acted only when the moment was right. He didn’t question orders—but he didn’t take unnecessary risks either. And this time, the order was simple: the witness had to be eliminated.

But as he watched you, a problem emerged.

You weren’t weak. You weren’t running. You hadn’t gone to the police—but you weren’t hiding either.

Tonight, he had finally caught you alone.

You quickened your pace. Your instincts had finally overpowered your logic. Your heart was pounding against your ribs.

“Walking alone this late isn’t a very good idea.”

The voice came from behind you.

You flinched. You took another step, but it was already too late—the distance had closed.

You turned around.

He stood within the shadows. His face was calm, his posture relaxed. He wasn’t in a hurry. He carried the patience of someone who knew you couldn’t escape.

“You’re following me,” you said. Your voice trembled, but it didn’t break.

“Yes,” he replied honestly. “I have been for a while.”

You swallowed hard. “You don’t know me.”

He looked at you. It was a long, deliberate look.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I know where you stop, when you hesitate, when you almost turn back.” A brief silence followed. “The only thing I don’t know is why you should still be alive.”

You stepped back. The wall pressed against your spine.

“I haven’t told anyone anything,” you said quickly. “I just—”

“You just saw,” he finished. “And sometimes, seeing is enough.”

His gaze was sharp—but uncertain.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be talking right now,” he said. “My work is silent.” He stepped closer. “But you’re disrupting my plans.”

You held your breath.

“Why?” you asked.

He stopped. His eyes never left yours.

“I was told to kill you,” he said. Then, in a lower voice, he added, “And for the first time, I’m not sure if that’s the right decision.”

The night grew even quieter around the two of you.