21/05/2026
The man in the tan trench coat had been standing at the bus stop for three hours. Not that anyone noticed—people rarely did, unless he wanted them to. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his thigh, counting down an invisible clock only he could hear. The coat was slightly too large, swallowing his frame, and the hem was frayed from years of use. Or maybe from something else.
Across the street, a barista wiped down the counter of an all-night café, humming something tuneless. The flickering neon sign cast an uneven glow over the wet pavement, turning puddles into liquid mirrors. The man didn’t glance at the reflections. He already knew what they wouldn’t show.
The barista's humming stopped mid-note when the coffee machine spat steam with a sudden hiss. She frowned—it hadn’t been turned on. Behind her, the man in the trench coat finally moved, stepping off the curb just as the bus’s headlights appeared at the far end of the street. The timing was too precise. The bus didn’t stop for anyone at this hour.
A newspaper skittered across the asphalt, caught in a wind that wasn’t there. The headlines blurred under the streetlights: LOCAL WOMAN MISSING, THIRD THIS MONTH. The man stepped over it without breaking stride. His shoes made no sound.
