The Edge Of You

The sound of rain on glass was usually comforting to Ava Sinclair. She loved the way Boston turned silver in the drizzle, the streetlamps casting golden halos on the wet sidewalks. But tonight was different. The city didn't feel like poetry. It felt like a warning.

She pressed her coat tighter around her chest and walked faster down Tremont Street, the heels of her boots clicking nervously against the pavement. Her phone buzzed again in her pocket-her best friend, Casey, probably reminding her she shouldn't be walking home alone from the library at midnight.

Ava didn't reply. She was too focused on the figure that had been behind her for the last two blocks.

She wasn't the paranoid type, but this felt wrong. Tall, dark hoodie. Black motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. Not walking fast-but not falling behind either.

She turned into an alley-a shortcut she'd used a hundred times before. The figure followed.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her phone slipped from her fingers and hit the pavement.

Keep walking. Don't panic.

The man behind her finally spoke. "You dropped something."

His voice was rough, low, and... oddly calm.

She stopped, turned slowly, and looked up.

He wasn't what she expected.

Leather jacket. Scuffed boots. Tattoo peeking from under his collar. Dark hair slick from the rain. And eyes-gray, stormy, unreadable.

Not a thug. Not a college kid. Not a killer.

Something in-between.

"Thanks," she said quietly, reaching for the phone he held out. Their fingers brushed.

Then, out of nowhere, he said, "You shouldn't walk through alleys alone, Ava."

Her heart stopped. "How do you know my name?"

A smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "See you around, good girl."

And just like that, he turned and vanished into the city.