Chapter 6

Zara's POV

The apartment was cold, the kind of cold that sank into your bones. It wasn’t just the temperature it was the silence, the emptiness. I dropped my bag by the door and looked around. The single room was small, with a creaky bed shoved against one wall and a kitchen that could barely fit one person. It wasn’t much, but it was mine for now.

I sank onto the mattress and pulled out my phone again, hoping against hope that the bank notification had somehow been a mistake. It hadn’t. The account was still frozen, the message still glaring back at me like a taunt.

My fingers itched to call the bank, but I knew better than to risk it. If the wrong person was behind this, contacting the bank might alert them to my exact location. I needed a plan, but my thoughts were jumbled, and exhaustion clawed at me.

A knock on the door snapped me out of my spiral. I froze.

“Zara?” a familiar voice called. “It’s Adrian. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Relief washed over me as I opened the door. Adrian stood there with a lopsided grin, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, handing one to me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, letting him step inside.

He looked around the tiny apartment, his expression carefully neutral. “Cozy,” he said finally, though we both knew it wasn’t.

I snorted. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

He chuckled, taking a seat on the only chair in the room. “Fair enough. But it’s not about where you start—it’s about where you’re going, right?”

His optimism was almost irritating, but I couldn’t deny it was comforting. Adrian didn’t know the mess I was in, but he didn’t seem to care. He was here, offering kindness without strings, and that was more than I’d had in a long time.

We chatted for a while, and I found myself relaxing in his presence. He talked about his plans at the art school, his love for photography, and how he wanted to capture the raw, unfiltered beauty of the world.

“What about you?” he asked, tilting his head. “What’s your story?”

I hesitated. “Not much to tell,” I said lightly. “Just… trying to figure things out.”

He didn’t push, for which I was grateful.

The next few days passed in a blur of adjustments. Adrian stayed true to his word, helping me navigate the city, introducing me to his favorite coffee shops, and even showing me shortcuts to campus. He was a constant presence, his easy smile and sharp wit cutting through the heaviness that seemed to follow me everywhere.

But trouble wasn’t far behind.

One morning, as I walked to my first dance class, I felt it: the prickling sensation of being watched. I stopped, glancing over my shoulder, but the bustling street behind me looked normal. Still, the feeling didn’t go away.

Later that day, Adrian found me sitting on the steps outside the campus building, my head in my hands.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

I shook my head, unable to hide my frustration. “I think someone’s following me,” I admitted quietly.

His expression darkened. “Are you sure?”

“No, but…” I hesitated. “It’s just a feeling. And my bank account’s still frozen. I can’t shake the thought that someone’s trying to sabotage me.”

Adrian was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “Alright. First, let’s get you some food—you look like you haven’t eaten all day. Then we’ll figure this out. Together.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him I didn’t need his help, but the truth was, I did.

As we walked to a nearby diner, I couldn’t help but wonder: who was watching me? And what did they want?

The answers felt closer than ever—and yet, maddeningly out of reach.

The diner Adrian picked was small, tucked into a corner of the city I hadn’t explored yet. The smell of coffee and frying bacon filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like a bubble of normalcy—until the unease crept back in.

I slid into a booth across from Adrian, my back to the wall so I could see the door. He noticed, his green eyes narrowing slightly, but didn’t comment. Instead, he handed me a menu.

“Order whatever you want. My treat,” he said with a grin.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted. “Consider it payment for letting me hang out with you. Besides, you’ve got enough to deal with.”

His kindness left me momentarily speechless. Finally, I nodded, murmuring, “Thank you.”

We ordered, and Adrian launched into a story about one of his photography professors, who was notorious for assigning impossible projects. I laughed at his impressions, but my attention kept drifting to the door. Every time it opened, I tensed, half-expecting someone to walk in and confront me.

“You’re really shaken up about this, huh?” Adrian said suddenly, his tone soft but serious.

I hesitated. He’d been nothing but supportive, but how much could I really tell him?

“I’ve had… a complicated life,” I said carefully. “And sometimes, it feels like it’s following me, no matter how far I run.”

Adrian leaned forward, his expression earnest. “If someone’s messing with you, I’ll help you figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His sincerity took me off guard. I’d barely known him a week, but he was offering to stand by me in a fight he didn’t even understand.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I like lost causes.”

I rolled my eyes, but his words made something in my chest ache—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper I wasn’t ready to name.

The food arrived, and we ate in companionable silence. For the first time in days, I felt almost normal, like the weight of my past wasn’t crushing me.

But the illusion didn’t last.

As we stepped out of the diner, I felt it again—that prickling sensation at the back of my neck. Someone was watching.

“Adrian,” I said quietly, stopping in my tracks.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low.

“Someone’s following us,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady.

He glanced around casually, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “Let’s see if we’re right.”

He grabbed my hand and started walking, pulling me down a side street. My heart pounded as we wove through the maze of alleys and side roads, the city’s noise fading behind us.

Finally, Adrian pulled me into a shadowed doorway, pressing a finger to his lips. We waited, the tension so thick I could barely breathe.

Then I saw him a man in a dark hoodie, lingering at the mouth of the alley. He scanned the area, his movements sharp and deliberate, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

“Did you see that?” I whispered.

Adrian nodded, his jaw tight. “We need to figure out who that is and why they’re after you.”

For the first time since I’d arrived in this city, I felt real fear clawing at me. Whoever this was, they weren’t just here to scare me.