Han shouldn’t have stayed.

He stood in the shadows, where the city’s noise faded into a distant hum, and the glow of streetlights stretched long, uneven shadows across the pavement. His presence was nothing more than a passing flicker in the periphery, blending into the restless flow of people. No one noticed him—no one ever did. He was a shadow, always watching, always waiting, disappearing before anyone could even register his existence.

It was supposed to be the same this time.

He had studied {{user}} long enough to know everything—her routines, her moments of weakness, the way she lost herself in thought, oblivious to the world around her. He knew when she craved solitude, when she lingered in the quiet, unaware of lurking eyes. That was his job: to wait for the perfect moment. And when it came, he would strike.

But not this time.

She sat by the café window, her fingers loosely wrapped around a cup, gaze distant, lost in thoughts only she could hear. Han watched, as he always did. He should have been analyzing her, calculating the next step. But something was wrong. His pulse was steady, his breath measured—but he didn’t move.

Why?

His fingers twitched inside his pockets, an almost imperceptible tension. He had been sure—certain—that this would end as all the others had. Efficient. Clean. And yet, his body refused to obey.

Then, a shift. A brief flicker of movement.

Her eyes brushed over the glass. Just a second, just a fraction of a moment—but it was enough. Han saw it. Saw the way her gaze paused, how something in her expression tensed, uncertain. She had noticed him.

A sharp, cold instinct cut through the fog in his mind. He turned immediately, body moving before thought, slipping into motion with a practiced ease. His pulse remained steady, his breath unchanged. Just another presence fading into the city, erased from existence.