Chapter 2 After the Shadows

Cynthia

I woke up feeling like my skin didn't belong to me.

The sunlight spilling across my floor felt too normal, like the night hadn't happened at all. But I knew it had. I felt it in the tightness of my chest and in the soreness of my arm where that man had grabbed me.

My phone buzzed again. Sonya.

> Let me know if you slept.

> Don't forget to eat.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering but not answering. I hadn't slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that street, hearing those footsteps, feeling those hands. And seeing him-Raymond-stepping out of nowhere, fighting them like it was nothing.

I rubbed my eyes. I needed to breathe. I needed to feel like I still owned this morning.

A soft knock pulled me back.

I cracked the door open. Sonya stood there with a paper bag.

"I brought breakfast," she said.

"You didn't have to."

"I know," she replied, walking past me anyway. "But you weren't going to."

I shut the door and followed her. "I'm fine, Sonya."

She set the bag on the table and gave me a look I knew too well. "You're not. You look like you didn't sleep."

I didn't even try to lie. "I didn't."

"Nightmares?"

I stayed silent. She didn't push, just started pouring tea into two cups like she'd already planned this conversation out.

"Eat something," she said.

I sat across from her, pulling out the bread she'd brought. It smelled like Mum's old morning runs to the bakery. My throat tightened unexpectedly.

Sonya's eyes softened. "You going to tell me what's going on in your head?"

"There's nothing else to tell."

"Cynthia."

I looked at her.

"You said he saved you. This... Raymond. What else?"

I hesitated. "He didn't talk much. He just... did what he had to."

"Which was?"

"Stopped them."

Her jaw tightened. "And then?"

"He walked me home."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

She tilted her head like she could read the part I wasn't saying. "Did you see his face?"

"Yes."

"Would you recognize him?"

I thought about last night-the way the streetlight cut across his face, the calm in his eyes. "I think so."

"Think?"

"It was dark," I muttered.

She sighed, wrapping her hands around her cup. "You're safe now."

"Am I?" I whispered.

Her hand reached across the table and found mine. "Yes. You are."

---

The apartment felt bigger after she left. Too big. Too quiet.

I tried to clean, to fold clothes I'd already folded yesterday, to wipe a kitchen counter that wasn't even dirty. None of it worked. My head wouldn't shut up.

The alley.

The grip on my arm.

His voice-steady and firm.

Let her go.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing deep.

I had to move.

Grabbing my bag, I stepped outside before I could second-guess it.

---

Somehow my feet took me back to the same street I'd sworn I wouldn't walk down again. Past the pharmacy. Past the corner store. And then, without even meaning to, to his building.

I stopped at the gate. My heart kicked hard, like it was trying to warn me.

What are you doing, Cynthia?

I told myself I was just... checking. Making sure last night wasn't something I'd made up.

I didn't open the gate. Didn't knock. Just stood there, staring at the closed door for too long, then turned and walked away.

I didn't look back until I reached the corner. Even then, it was only for a second, just to see that nothing had changed. The house was quiet again. Still.

Like maybe I'd imagined him entirely.

---

When I finally got home, Sonya was curled up on the couch with her laptop. She looked up immediately.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

She gave me that look again-the one that said you're lying but I'll let you. "I saved you some rice."

"Thanks."

I poured a glass of water, but my thoughts wouldn't settle. Not about last night. Not about him.

The way he'd stood there, holding that silver cross like it was the only steady thing in his life.

---

Later, when Sonya went to bed, I sat by the window with my knees drawn up, staring at the quiet street.

I could still hear his voice.

It does remind me. But forgetting hasn't worked either.

What had he meant by that? What was he trying so hard to forget?

I wanted to ask him. I wanted to know more than his name. But that thought made my stomach twist.

Too much. Too soon.

I closed the curtain and stood, restless.

---

The next morning, I sent a message before I could stop myself:

> Hope you're okay.

A pause. Then his reply:

> I am. Thanks.

Simple. Direct.

My thumb hovered, but I typed again.

> If you ever want to talk...

The dots on my screen blinked. Then disappeared.

I waited, but nothing else came.

Still... I couldn't stop smiling.

---

Raymond

I woke earlier than usual. The kind of morning where light creeps in slow, like it's unsure if it belongs here.

I sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the silver cross lying on the table. My father's. I used to keep it in a box, hidden. These last few weeks, I've left it out. Maybe I needed to see something familiar. Something I could still hold on to.

But last night's face kept slipping in.

Hers.

Cynthia.

The way she'd hugged her bag like it was the only thing she could trust. The way she froze when I told them to let her go, and then the relief in her eyes when I did what I was trained to do. I didn't plan to step in. I never plan things like that anymore. It just... happens.

And now, for the first time in years, someone had my number.

I didn't even give it-she handed me hers. A café card, her handwriting small and deliberate. I'd stared at it half the night.

I rubbed my eyes and stood, heading to the kitchen. Mum was already there, humming softly as she sorted groceries. She always did things like that, kept busy even when her knees ached.

"You're up early," she said without looking at me.

"Couldn't sleep," I answered.

"You thinking about last night?"

I hesitated. "Something like that."

She came to lean on the doorway, towel in her hands. "It mattered, didn't it? Helping her."

"It shouldn't."

"But it did," she said softly.

I looked at the cross again, then at the phone on the counter. A part of me wanted to call her-to just... check if she was okay. But another part reminded me why I don't let people close. People get hurt. People leave.

Before I could put the thought away, my phone buzzed.

Cynthia: Hope you're okay.

I stared at the words. Three simple ones.

I typed back.

> I am. Thanks.

The dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came back again.

Cynthia: If you ever want to talk...

I exhaled slowly and set the phone down without replying.

Not yet.

But I didn't move away either.

---