A flicker of movement outside snapped me out of my trance. Through the streaked glass window, I saw them. A cluster of men in sharp black suits, their postures rigid, their faces obscured by the dull March light. Secret Service, or something worse—earpieces glinting like tiny stars, eyes hidden behind mirrored shades. My stomach clenched. They weren’t milling about like tourists or loitering like locals. They were watching. I slammed my laptop shut, the sound a gunshot in the quiet hum of the cafe, and shoved it into my bag, my eyes darting between them. They fanned out with military precision, taking positions at the doors and windows. Their broad backs turned to the glass like a human barricade. My pulse hammered in my throat because, like I knew how to decipher this text somehow, I knew in my bones that I was the target.

Instinct took over. My hand plunged into my bag, fingers wrapping around the cold hilt of my knife—a thin, wicked blade I’d carried since the first time I’d decoded something I shouldn’t have. I spun around, ready to slash, to carve my way out if I had to—and froze. A familiar man was inches before me, towering like a shadow given flesh. Tall, bald, his skin a deep, polished ebony, he stood in a crisp black suit that seemed to drink the light. Handsome in a way that felt dangerous, like a blade wrapped in silk. His eyes locked onto mine, calm and unyielding.

“That wouldn’t be wise,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “People might get hurt.”

I gripped the knife tighter, my knuckles whitening, but something in his gaze—steady, almost amused—made me hesitate. He gestured to the seat I’d leapt from, a faint tilt of his head. “Sit. Please.”

Against every screaming nerve in my body, I lowered the blade and sank back into the chair, my bag clutched to my chest like a shield. He slid into the seat across from me, graceful as a panther, and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Toreon Kane,” he said, as if it explained everything.

The name hit me like a punch. Toreon Kane—founder of Happy House Paper Company, a sprawling empire I’d only ever glimpsed in headlines. A man of wealth and whispers, the kind who didn’t just walk into greasy coffee shops on a Tuesday afternoon. “Why the hell is someone like you looking for me?” I rasped, my voice rough with suspicion.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket. My muscles tensed, expecting danger, but he pulled out a folded slip of paper. With deliberate care, he unfolded it, smoothing it flat against the table before sliding it toward me. My breath caught. There they were: the same jagged, shifting glyphs I’d been wrestling with all year. Ancient, alive, and impossible.

“Read it,” he commanded.

I dragged my eyes from his face to the paper. The symbols pulsed faintly, as if aware of me, rearranging themselves into something almost legible. “It’s… letters,” I muttered, frowning. “A fragment, maybe. Part of a sentence.”

“Translate it.”

I glared at him, the weight of his stare pressing against me. “It’s not that simple. It’s not just letters—it’s a code—a living, shifting thing. Not even machines can pin it down long enough to crack it. It changes too fast.”

He leaned back, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “And yet you can. How is it that you, Tawnie, are the only one on this forsaken planet who can unravel it?”

I bristled at my name in his mouth, how it sounded like he’d owned it for years. 

“Call it a streak of misfortune,” I snapped, bitterness seeping through. “I’ve had a lot of practice staring into things that don’t want to be seen.”

His smirk widened, but his eyes darkened. “It’s more than that. You know it.”

I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor like a scream. “I have to go.”

His hand shot across the table, fast as a striking snake, and clamped around my wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to sit me back down. My heart thudded against my ribs. 

“What do you want from me?” I hissed.

“The world needs you, Tawnie,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I believe in your mission.”

I blinked, feigning ignorance. “Mission? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he’d already solved. “Don’t play coy. You want mankind to see the rot they’ve sown, to understand the errors choking this Earth. I want that too. And I need your help to make it happen.”

The air between us thickened. I let my shoulders slump, just enough to let him think my guard was down. “Fine. Explain.”

He leaned closer, his presence filling the space like smoke. “Join me. I can train you—sharpen you into the most dangerous woman alive. For a second reason, beyond what you already carry.”

I frowned, irritation flaring. “What, you hunted me down to offer me a job at your paper company? Filing invoices in a cubicle?”

He laughed—a rich, dark sound that shivered my spine. Then, he reached into his jacket again. This time, he produced a sleek device, larger than a phone but smaller than a tablet, its back etched with a silhouetted bird encircled by a ring. He slid it across the table, the metal scraping faintly against the wood. “Use this if you need a human touch to fix this broken planet.”

I stared at it, then at him, as he stood and popped his collar casually. That’s when I noticed it—the stillness. The cafe had gone unnaturally quiet, a frozen tableau of mundane life. Behind the counter, a barista stood mid-pour, coffee spilling over the edge of a cup and pooling on the floor in a glossy black puddle. A man at a nearby table held a tilted plate, food scattered across the surface, while the couple awaited him, smiling blankly, waiting for the meal already on the floor. A kid gripped his phone in the corner, his video chat friend’s voice crackling faintly through the speaker—“Dude, you there? You’re frozen!”—but the kid didn’t move. No one did.

I lurched to my feet, my chair clattering behind me, the sound swallowed by the eerie silence. Kane watched me, unruffled. “Still running from the law, I take it?”

My eyes flicked to the window. Beyond the suited men, I saw them now—police, their cars idling in the street, lights flashing in slow, hypnotic pulses. Too close. Too many. “You’re saying you can keep me safe?”

He nodded, a quiet confidence radiating from him. “And out of prison, but only if you allow it.”

I hesitated, the weight of the device cold against my fingertips. The cops outside shifted, their presence a tightening noose. I met Kane’s gaze, and after a long, suffocating moment, I nodded. “Okay.”

He tapped something on his watch—a sleek, matte-black thing—and murmured, “Blackout.” Outside, the suited men raised their own devices, identical to the one he’d given me, and pressed them in unison. A ripple pulsed through the air, thin waves of white light, and the world beyond the glass stuttered to a halt. Pedestrians froze mid-step, cars slowly rolling to a stop, their engines silent. Life itself paused, held in Kane’s grip.

He turned to me, his eyes glinting with something like reverence. “It’s an honor to serve you, Tawnie.”

The words hung there, heavy and final, as the frozen world awaited us to decide its fate.