Chapter 2 — Shadows of the Past

Nara

A faint hum greets me as I swipe my keycard, the door sliding shut behind me with a soft, deliberate click. The sterile perfection of the space feels heavier now, suffocating in the silence. It’s as though the pristine walls are conspiring to keep out anything warm or human. My duffel bag sits abandoned where I left it by the couch, its contents still untouched. I stare at it, feeling the familiar weight of impermanence. I’ve drifted through so many places—foster homes, dingy rentals—but The Haven is different. It feels permanent. And permanence terrifies me.

I lean against the cool granite of the kitchen counter, fingers tracing its flawless edge, and allow my thoughts to spiral. Alexander Solonik’s presence clings to me like a shadow I can’t shake. His words—calm, deliberate, and unnervingly precise—echo in my mind. *Sometimes the past finds us where we least expect it.*

His piercing blue eyes flash in my memory, their intensity unsettling. No, not just unsettling. Familiar. Like the faintest echo of something I can’t place—an image buried deep in my fragmented memories. A boy with eyes like his, standing in the doorway as chaos raged around us.

I close my eyes, willing the thought away. It doesn’t matter who Alexander is or what he meant. I didn’t come here to dwell on the past. I came here to escape it.

The rain taps persistently against the floor-to-ceiling windows, a rhythm I find both soothing and unnerving. I unzip my duffel bag, pulling out a few books, some loose clothing, and my journal. The journal’s leather cover feels soft and familiar under my fingertips, its pages uneven from years of scrawled confessions. I set it on the coffee table, but my hands linger on it. There’s comfort in knowing it’s there, even if I don’t open it.

The clouds outside press heavily against the glass, darkening the room. I flip a light switch, but the modern fixtures only cast a pale, hollow glow. Shadows cling to the corners like stubborn cobwebs. As I move to the bedroom to unpack, I catch my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. My almond-shaped eyes look distant, the faint furrow in my brow deeper than I remember. I stare at myself for a moment, tracing the edges of my face as though trying to recognize the person staring back.

A sharp creak from the hallway freezes me where I stand. The sound cuts through the stillness like a whisper of breath against my ear. My stomach twists instinctively. I glance toward the door, my heart hammering in my chest. The noise is faint—innocuous, even—but it sets my nerves on edge.

I step quietly into the living room, my socks muffling my footsteps against the hardwood floor. Peering through the peephole, I find the corridor stretched out before me, empty and unnervingly still. The muted gray walls feel narrower, as though pressing in on themselves. The overhead lights flicker, their uneven glow throwing jagged shadows onto the floor.

For a moment, I stay there, my breath held, my ear pressed to the door. There’s a faint shuffle, so soft it could almost be my imagination. Almost.

I step back, shaking my head. “It’s nothing,” I whisper to myself. Just a new place. New noises. Nothing to panic over. And yet my fingers reach instinctively for the key pendant around my neck. The cool metal presses against my palm, its worn grooves familiar and grounding. I trace its tiny swirling patterns, my thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles.

For a fleeting moment, I’m somewhere else—my mother’s voice rising, hurried and sharp, her hands shoving the pendant into mine. A crash. Shadows stretching long across the floor. My breath catches, but the memory vanishes before I can grasp it.

When I turn back toward the living room, something feels off. My eyes land on the coffee table, its edge pressing awkwardly into the rug. I pause, narrowing my gaze. Hadn’t I centered it earlier?

I step closer, crouching to inspect it as my mind crafts excuses. Maybe I nudged it when I dropped my duffel bag. Or the rug shifted under my boots. But as I straighten, the faint scent of something unfamiliar reaches my nose—cologne, maybe. Masculine. It’s faint but undeniable, lingering like a trace of someone who doesn’t belong.

A prickle runs down my spine. My eyes scan the apartment—every corner, every surface. The drawers are closed, the photograph of my mother untouched, everything seemingly in its place. But the unease claws at me, sharp and unrelenting.

I drift from room to room, checking locks, rechecking the peephole. My hands tremble faintly as they trail over doorknobs and countertops. My chest feels tight, my breathing shallow. By the time I collapse onto the couch, I feel less like the apartment’s tenant and more like its trespasser.

A sudden knock at the door jolts me upright. My heart slams against my ribs, and I scramble to my feet, pulse thundering. “Who is it?” I call, my voice tight and strained.

“It’s Marta!”

The voice is warm and unfamiliar. I hesitate, then crack the door open to find a curvy woman in a bright, patterned dress. Her sleek brown bob curls in sharply at her chin, and her hazel eyes sparkle with unguarded curiosity. She holds up a plate of cookies wrapped in plastic, her grin disarming.

“Hi!” she chirps. “I live in 1503. Thought I’d welcome you to the neighborhood!”

I hesitate, my fingers tight on the doorframe. “Oh… thanks.”

“Can I come in?” she asks, already stepping past me. My mouth opens, but no words come out as she breezes into the living room, her energy overwhelming the quiet sterility.

She sets the plate on the coffee table and spins slowly, taking in the space. “Wow,” she says, her tone bordering on amused. “They really went all-in on the whole ‘modern-industrial chic’ thing, didn’t they?” Her gaze lands on me, warm and friendly. “Your place already feels cozier than most, though.”

I blink, unsure how to respond. “I haven’t really unpacked.”

“Ah, the minimalist touch. Bold choice.” She grins, undeterred. “Anyway, I saw the moving van earlier and thought, ‘Hey, someone new to harass!’” Her laugh is bright and infectious, and for a moment, I feel myself relax.

“I’m Nara,” I offer, the words feeling foreign in my mouth.

“Well, Nara, if you ever need some company—or an excuse to leave this place—just call me, okay?” She fumbles in her pocket, handing me a small card with her name and number scrawled alongside a colorful floral print.

I glance down at it, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”

Her gaze lands on my pendant. “That’s pretty,” she says, her tone softer now. “Looks like it has a story.”

I instinctively close my hand over it, tucking it beneath my sweater. “It belonged to my mom.”

Her expression shifts, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes. “Well… it suits you.” She straightens, her energy returning. “Anyway, I should head back before my lasagna burns. But seriously—don’t be a stranger.”

She’s gone as quickly as she appeared, her warmth lingering for only a moment before the quiet resumes.

I sit down on the couch and reach for my journal, intending to write, but my pen hovers above the page, unmoving. My thoughts scatter like leaves, restless and impossible to catch.

The rain continues its steady rhythm against the glass, and I glance toward the windows. The city lights shimmer faintly through the drizzle. From the corner of my eye, a shadow shifts just barely out of view.

My heart leaps into my throat. I spin toward it, but there’s nothing there—only my reflection staring back, wide-eyed and pale.

The key pendant feels heavier around my neck, its edges digging into my skin. *Sometimes the past finds us where we least expect it.*

Alexander’s words churn through my mind, insistent and inescapable.

And for the first time, I wonder if the past I’ve been running from is already here, waiting in the shadows.