How is he standing here…? The same guy from my dream? Grace blinks, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounds wildly, her mind scrambling for logic. This can't be real.
But she isn't the only one in disbelief.
The guy who had just knocked the drunken gangster to the ground stood tall, a quiet strength radiating from his frame. He sighs, almost absently, as if the fight had drained little from him—but then his eyes meet hers.
And in that instant, something in him cracks.
Julian stares at her. His eyes, sharp a moment ago, now falter—clouded with confusion, awe, and a hint of fear. She can't be…
His heartbeat quickens. A strange pressure swells in his chest, threatening to burst. Her face… She looks just like the girl from a hundred years ago. The same eyes. The same mouth. Even the way she stood—uncertain, guarded—is hauntingly familiar.
This isn't possible.
Grace's gaze flickers to the alleyway behind her. Something else jolts in her memory. This backstreet… it looks exactly like the one in her dream—the narrow, crumbling walls above the shadows. The very place she had once run from armored soldiers who had no name and no mercy. She can almost feel the pounding footsteps behind her, the cold fear in her lungs.
As if the time had stopped, they stand, suspended in the echo of something unspoken, something ancient.
Then, finally, the guy breaks the silence.
"It's dangerous to be here alone," he says, his voice low and firm. "You need to leave."
Grace blinks, the trance beginning to fade. He's not the same. He can't be, she told herself. It was just a dream. Just a coincidence.
"Um… thank you," she murmurs, still uncertain.
"Don't stay here," he says again, already turning away. "Go."
She watches as he walks past her, his footsteps steady.
Though trying not to reveal his emotions, Julian's mind spins like a storm. That face. That voice. That presence. It's as if the past had reached across time and grabbed him by the throat. The memories come flooding back, and with them, the sorrow. The unbearable loss. He bites his lip hard, almost drawing blood, trying to anchor himself in the present.
But then… his steps stop.
He senses her behind him.
Turning slowly, he finds her there—still following, still unsure.
Their eyes lock again, and something fragile passes between them.
"I'm sorry," Grace says, her voice awkward and a little too fast. "But I actually just got robbed. Everything's gone."
Julian stares at her, saying nothing. How can two faces be so alike…?
Grace has no idea what he was thinking. To her, he was just a stranger—albeit a strangely familiar one as she remembers the guy with the same face from the dream—staring at her with unsettling intensity. She clears her throat and continues. "They stole my phone, my wallet, literally everything. So… I was wondering if you could tell me how I can—?"
She pauses. He's still staring at her face, his brows drawn, lips parted slightly.
Grace winces and tries again, her voice quieter this time.
"…Could you tell me where the Trinity Hotel is?"
"…Come. Follow me," Julian says quietly.
He turns again and walks ahead without another word.
Grace hesitates, then follows, unsure whether she should walk beside him or hang back. He doesn't seem like he wants me near him, she thinks. I'll just stay a few steps behind.
They pass through the long, winding backstreet, the city's noise swallowed up by the narrow alley walls. It's eerily quiet—just the sound of their footsteps echoing off brick and concrete. Not a soul in sight.
Grace's eyes wander to the man in front of her.
He looks to be around six feet tall. His posture, the way his hands shift ever so slightly when he walks, the tousled hair brushing the collar of his coat—it's all uncannily similar to the man from her dream. But maybe I'm just trying to match the two, she thinks. They both saved me… It's probably just wishful thinking. Still…
As if hearing her unspoken thoughts, Julian speaks without turning.
"What's… your name?"
His voice is low, unreadable.
Grace blinks, startled at first, then lets a small smile curl at her lips. Maybe he does want to talk.
She picks up her pace, stepping beside him now, matching his long strides.
"I'm Grace. It's my first time in Mellany. I came for my friend's—" She trails off.
His eyes remain straight ahead, unbothered, indifferent.
Okay. He's definitely not interested in my personal life. She slows down a little.
Grace… Julian repeats her name in his mind. He lets out the faintest breath, the corners of his mouth twitching with a resigned smile. So it's not her, after all…
Grace catches the subtle shake of his head. "May I ask your name?" she says softly. "I mean, I really want to thank you somehow when I get my stuff back. My wallet, my phone… everything's gone."
"…No need to," he replies curtly.
"Oh. Okay then…"
She blinks, taken aback. She isn't used to this.
People usually warmed to her quickly—drawn in by her pretty face and active presence. Strangers smiled. People wanted to know her, to talk to her. Men and women alike. But this man… he is different. Distant. Like a door slammed shut with no warning.
The silence stretches for nearly twenty minutes as they walk.
Grace hates silence.
But the look on his face, the way his shoulders stay stiff, tell her he wants no conversation. So she says nothing.
Finally, the alley ends. The world returns—bright signs, crowded sidewalks, cars honking, people moving in every direction. A wave of life that felt like a relief.
Julian raises an arm without a word, and a yellow taxi pulls to a smooth stop beside them.
Grace freezes. Wait… I don't have money. I can't just—
Julian opens the back door and looks at her. A wordless instruction: Get in.
"Um…" Grace hesitates.
Without answering, Julian pulls out his wallet and hands her a folded stack of bills.
She gapes. "Oh—wait, I don't think I need this much. And… I mean, how can I pay you back?"
"Don't need to. Just take it."
He doesn't wait for her to agree—he presses the cash firmly into her hands, no room for argument.
The driver turns slightly. "Are you coming or not?"
Grace stands there, overwhelmed. She looks down at the money, then at Julian.
Before she can make up her mind, Julian has already turned away. He walks past the cab without looking back, melting into the crowd as if he were never there to begin with.
Grace watches his retreating figure disappear into the street. She turns to the driver, offering a sheepish, apologetic smile.
"I'm really sorry… but I can't take it."
The driver offeres her a warm smile. "Okay. Have a great day."
"You too. Have a great day," Grace replies politely, gently shutting the cab door.
The taxi pulls away, merging into the tide of cars. As it disappears down the road, Grace spins around quickly—eyes scanning the street.
There. He is already halfway down the block, weaving through the crowd with that same calm, effortless gait.
"Hello!" she calls out, breaking into a run. "Hey!"
Julian stops. Slowly, he turns, his expression unreadable.
Grace halts a few steps from him, catching her breath, flusters but determined. Her heart pounds, both from the sprint and something she can't name.
He looks just like that guy who saved me in the dream. The resemblance is terrifyingly perfect.
Julian's gaze stays steady. "You really don't need to pay me back."
"Well… I'm not exactly great at accepting random hundred-dollar bills without doing something about it," Grace shoots back, crossing her arms.
But that isn't the only reason. She can't let him walk away just yet—not until she figures out how he can look so much like the man in her dreams. Even his voice—deep, low, and cool—is eerily similar. She can't remember the dream-man's voice exactly… but this feels close. Too close.
Julian's eyes flickers—something between resistance and regret. It is subtle, but it breaks through his stoic façade. Just looking at her… it hurts. That same ache from long ago is pressing against his chest again. His breath tightens.
Grace, oblivious to the storm inside him, just assumes he is being cold. Mysterious, even. So chic, she thought.
"Well… can you at least give me your phone number?" she asks.
When he doesn't answer, she holds out her hand, palm open. "Maybe just write it here? I don't have a phone on me right now. I'll call you later and repay you."
Still nothing.
"Or… your bank account number?" she adds, a little sheepish now. "If you're the private type."
Silence.
He just stares at her, eyes dark and searching, but says nothing.
Grace's hand falters. She slowly pulls it back, cheeks growing warm. Okay… that was awkward.
Julian's gaze drops, and that's when he sees them—bloody scratches trailing down both of Grace's arms, raw and stinging.
Grace follows his eyes and finally notices the thin red lines carved into her skin. I probably got hurt when I got shoved out of the cab. The pain registers for the first time, a sharp sting prickling her nerves. In the chaos, the fear, and the confusion, she hasn't even realized she was hurt—hasn't felt a thing since being shoved from the cab.
That's when Julian says, "I'll take you to your hotel."
Grace blinks. "Wait… really? I mean—thank you…"
"Come."
He turns again and begins walking fast, not waiting for a reply. Grace scrambles to follow, catching up quickly as they turn down a side street.
Within moments, he comes to a stop at the corner—beside a sleek black motorcycle. He swings one leg over and gets on, then reaches behind him and hands her an extra helmet.
"Wear it."
Grace's eyes widens. He's taking me to the hotel on this?
She hesitates, staring at the helmet in her hands.
Julian revs the engine, the motorcycle rumbling beneath him.
Taking a deep breath, Grace steps forward and climbs onto the back.
Do I… hold onto his back? Her hands hovered awkwardly in the air. We just met… this is so weird.
As if reading her mind, Julian says, "Hold tight."
"Oh. Okay…" she whispers, wrapping her arms around his waist.
The engine roars louder.
And just like that, the two of them speed off—through the lights, into the night.
Grace hesitates only for a second, then wraps her arms gently around Julian's back. The warmth of his leather jacket contrasts against the cooling summer night, and in the next instant, the motorcycle roars to life.
With one smooth motion, Julian pulls out into the street, guiding the motorcycle like he had done it a thousand times before. The city blurrs around them—neon lights, soft streetlamps, and old stone buildings passing by like fleeting memories.
The wind rushes past Grace's face, brushing her hair wildly. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in the warm scent of summer mixed with faint traces of Julian's cologne. In the chaos of everything—being robbed, thrown to the ground, the confusion of this whole day—this one moment feels strangely perfect.
Just for this second, Grace let go of the anxiety. The loss of her wallet, phone, cards, and all her things—it all disappears into the wind.