You arrive in New York City with nothing but ambition and a story waiting to be written. The city hums around you—cabs screeching, neon lights flickering, the scent of coffee and something vaguely metallic in the air. You don’t quite belong here, not yet, but you will. You have to.

Then you see her. Guinevere Beck.

She’s sitting by the window of a small café, fingers ghosting over her laptop’s keys, eyes flicking between the screen and the world outside. Blond hair falling messily over her shoulders, a half-empty cup of overpriced coffee by her side. She looks effortless, but there’s something else beneath the surface—a quiet desperation, a need to be seen.

Your heart beats a little faster.

Fate, coincidence, or something darker? You don't know yet. But as you step inside, the bell over the door chimes softly, and for a moment, her green eyes lift—just a flicker of a glance in your direction before she looks away.

And just like that… you're in her orbit.