The Man In The Gray Coat

Elena barely slept that night. Every creak in the building, every car horn from the street below, sounded like footsteps outside her door. She lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying the image of the gray-coated man waiting outside the bookstore. By morning, she was exhausted but determined. If he wanted to watch, let him watch. She refused to live in fear. At work, the glass towers of Victoria Island gleamed in the sunlight. Elena buried herself in spreadsheets and presentations, her mind struggling to focus. She was halfway through drafting a financial report when the receptionist walked in, holding a small white envelope. “This just came for you,” the woman said. Elena frowned. “From who?” The receptionist shrugged. “A man dropped it at the front desk. Didn’t give his name.” Her breath caught. Slowly, she took the envelope. It was plain, unmarked—except for her name written in neat black letters. Hands shaking, she tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper. The

The night air tore past Elena’s face as she stumbled after the man in the gray coat, his grip firm on her hand. Her heels clattered against the pavement, but she didn’t dare slow down. Behind them, the heavy thud of footsteps grew louder.“Who are they?” she gasped.“Not here,” he shot back. “Keep moving!”They darted into a narrow alley between two shuttered shops. The man moved with practiced precision, scanning every shadow, every corner. Elena’s lungs burned, but adrenaline pushed her forward.A dark figure appeared at the other end of the alley, blocking their escape.“Down!” he barked.Before she could process, he yanked her against the wall, shielding her with his body. A glint of metal flashed in the stranger’s hand. Elena’s heart stopped—a gun.But in the next second, the man in the gray coat lunged. With startling speed, he slammed his elbow into the attacker’s wrist, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. A swift kick followed, and the stranger crumpled with a groan.

The lantern burned low, its soft flame fluttering in the draft that slipped through the gaps of the wooden planks. Golden light painted uneven shadows on the walls, making the little stilted house feel alive, as though the very boards were holding their breath. Beyond the window, the lagoon whispered—gentle ripples against the stilts, the distant croak of frogs, the occasional splash of something unseen beneath the surface.Elena lay on the narrow bed, staring at the wooden beams above her. Her body ached from the chase, from the shock of the past few days, but sleep refused to come. Her mind was too full.Numbers and ledgers still haunted her. Columns of figures she had uncovered at the bank, the suspicious accounts that didn’t add up, the sudden “audit” she was warned not to question. Then came the threats, the men in black cars, the shadow at every corner of the street. And now—Adrian.The man in the gray coat sat by the window, silent as stone. His posture was rigid, yet fluid, li

The night air was damp with the smell of rain-soaked asphalt, and the world felt unnaturally quiet after the violence of their escape. Elena half-dragged, half-guided Adrian down the narrow alley until the neon lights faded and only the moon lit their path. His coat was heavy against her shoulder, and she could feel his body trembling from more than exhaustion. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered, as though raising her voice would bring their pursuers back. “I’ve survived worse,” Adrian muttered, though the sharp intake of his breath betrayed the pain. She tightened her grip on his arm and pushed them forward until the alley spat them out onto a quieter street. Ahead, the hollow shell of a boarded-up shopfront loomed. Elena kicked at the loose panelling until it gave way, and together they stumbled inside. Dust and shadows greeted them. “Sit,” she ordered, her voice steadier than she felt. Adrian sank against the wall, his breaths ragged. The pale light from a cracked window reveal

The night belonged to her. The forest sprawled in silence beneath the starless sky, a stretch of black shadows and restless wind. To most, the darkness was suffocating, but to the Commander it was a weapon—an extension of her own will. Her boots touched the soil without a sound, her soldiers trailing a careful distance behind, each one disciplined enough to avoid the crunch of branches. They moved because she allowed them to move. They breathed because she had not yet told them to still their lungs. Ahead, the farmhouse sat in a shallow clearing, its windows dark, its frame leaning slightly like a weary traveler. To the untrained eye it was abandoned. To her, it was alive. The air carried the faintest tremor—wood creaking beneath cautious steps, glass whispering against its frame as if someone had dared to draw it down too far. She had hunted enough prey to recognize the signs. They were inside. The Commander lifted her gloved hand and the entire column froze. Silence reigned agai