Julian woke to silence.
Not the comforting kind, not the soft hush of early morning that usually slipped through his apartment windows, but a stillness that felt deliberate—watchful. His eyes fluttered open slowly, his body heavy, limbs warm and loose in a way that immediately unsettled him.
This wasn't his bed.
The sheets were too smooth, too cool against his skin. The air carried a faint, unfamiliar scent—clean, sharp, with something metallic beneath it. Julian lay there for a moment, suspended between sleep and awareness, trying to piece together how he'd gotten here.
Then memory rushed in.
The bar.
The silver eyes.
The elevator.
The window overlooking the city.
His chest tightened.
Julian pushed himself upright, the sheet sliding down to his waist. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, pale and diffused, casting soft lines across the floor. Outside, the city moved as it always did—cars, people, life continuing without pause.
Lucian was gone.
The realization struck harder than Julian expected.
He scanned the room instinctively, heart picking up pace. No movement. No presence. The space felt emptier than it should have, like something essential had been removed.
A one-night stand, he told himself firmly. That was all. People left in the morning. That was normal.
So why did it feel like abandonment?
Julian swung his legs off the bed and stood, suddenly aware of the faint soreness in his muscles, the echo of touch lingering like a phantom sensation beneath his skin. His face flushed at the memory—not just of what had happened, but of how easily he had let it happen.
He pressed his palms to the cool glass of the window, grounding himself. The city looked ordinary in daylight. Safer. Less charged. As if the night had been some shared hallucination.
You barely know him, Julian thought.
You shouldn't even be thinking about him.
He turned away from the window and noticed it then.
A small black card rested on the bedside table.
Julian's breath caught.
He crossed the room slowly, every step deliberate, as though moving too quickly might shatter something fragile. He picked up the card.
No logo. No number.
Just a single line, written in the same precise handwriting he'd seen on the drink slip at the bar.
You were never meant to forget.
Julian stared at the words, his pulse thudding loudly in his ears.
"What does that even mean?" he whispered to the empty room.
He checked his phone—no missed calls, no unknown numbers, nothing to anchor the night in something tangible. It was as if Lucian had slipped in and out of his life without leaving a trace... except for the weight pressing against Julian's chest.
He dressed quietly, movements automatic, mind racing. By the time he stepped out onto the street, the sun was fully up, bright and unapologetic. People brushed past him, coffee cups in hand, conversations overlapping in a familiar urban chorus.
Julian felt disconnected from all of it.
Every reflection caught his attention now—store windows, passing cars, polished metal. For a fleeting moment, he kept expecting to see silver eyes watching him from behind the glass.
He didn't.
That didn't help.
Back in his apartment, the walls felt smaller than before. The rain from the previous nights had washed the city clean, leaving everything sharper, more exposed. Julian dropped his keys onto the counter and sank onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face.
He tried to tell himself it was just sex. Just chemistry. Just a mistake made easier by loneliness and exhaustion.
But the memory wouldn't flatten into something harmless.
Lucian hadn't felt temporary.
Julian closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to slow his thoughts. That was when it happened—a flicker at the edge of his mind. Not a full memory, not an image he could grasp, but a sensation.
Warmth.
Pressure.
A voice murmuring his name.
Julian's eyes snapped open.
His heart raced. He pressed his fingers to his temple, frowning. "Get it together," he muttered. He hadn't drunk that much. He hadn't taken anything. There was no reason for his mind to feel... fragmented.
And yet, something felt missing.
Not in a dramatic way. More like forgetting a word mid-sentence. Like reaching for a memory that should have been there and finding only static.
Julian stood and paced the apartment, restless. He checked the photograph again—the one that had appeared days ago. Still there. Still unsettling.
Except now, it didn't feel random.
He replayed the sequence of events in his mind, searching for logic. The rooftop bar. The name. The gaze that felt too knowing. The way Lucian had watched him, as if seeing past skin and bone.
A shiver ran through him.
Who are you? Julian wondered—not with fear, but with something dangerously close to longing.
His phone buzzed suddenly, making him flinch.
An unknown number.
Julian hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
Silence stretched across the line.
Just as he was about to hang up, a familiar voice spoke—low, calm, unmistakable.
"Julian."
His breath caught. "Lucian?"
A pause. Then, faint amusement. "You remembered."
Julian's fingers tightened around the phone. "You left."
"I never said I'd stay."
"That doesn't—" Julian stopped himself, swallowing. "Why did you call?"
Another pause. Deliberate this time.
"Because," Lucian said smoothly, "I wanted to see if you'd answer."
Julian closed his eyes.
Against his will, relief washed through him—followed immediately by frustration at himself for feeling it.
"I don't even know who you are," Julian said quietly.
Lucian's voice softened, just a fraction. "You will."
The line went dead.
Julian stared at his phone long after the call ended, his pulse still racing. Outside, the city continued on, unaware that something unseen had slipped into the cracks of his life.
He didn't know it yet, but the shadow Lucian had cast would not fade with daylight.
It would follow him.
And slowly—inevitably—it would claim him.