A couple of minutes later, the motorcycle rolls to a stop.
"We're here," Julian says.
Grace lifts her head and blinks at the glowing sign above the entrance: Trinity Hotel. The logo shines softly in the evening light.
"Oh, we're here already," she murmurs, a little surprised.
Awkwardly, she unwraps her arms from around Julian's waist and dismounts the bike He follows a second later, and just as they remove their helmets, a bellman in a crisp uniform approaches with a practiced smile.
"Welcome," the bellman greets.
Grace walks behind Julian into the hotel lobby, elegant and hushed, with the scent of fresh flowers floating through the air.
At the front desk, the check-in clerk looks up. "Your name, please?"
Julian turns slightly, glancing at Grace.
"Grace Silver," she says, stepping forward.
The clerk types rapidly, then nods. "Yes, I see you here, Ma'am. We just need a deposit and your credit card information."
"Oh…" Grace hesitates, patting her pockets, frowning. "My credit card number…"
She can't remember it. Nothing comes to mind—only a blank where the numbers should be. Her chest tightens slightly, the awkward silence stretching.
Then Julian speaks, calm and smooth.
"Here. Use my card."
He hands the clerk his credit card without a second thought.
"Thank you," the clerk says, accepting it. "Please fill out this form."
"Okay." Grace takes the clipboard and begins writing. There are more lines than she expects—name, address, emergency contact, preferences. She fills each one carefully.
"Here," she says, handing it back.
But when she looks up, Julian is gone.
She blinks. Did he leave already…?
A strange mix of disappointment and confusion settles in her chest. She wonders if she should run after him, but her legs stay rooted to the floor. I really need to pay him back... but how?
"All set," the clerk announces. "Here's your room card."
"Thank you," Grace replies, taking it with a half-smile.
She walks toward the elevator slowly, dragging her feet just a little, scanning the lobby with quiet hope. But he's not there. Nowhere.
I guess he just kind of… donated the money to me and disappeared, she thinks, pressing the elevator button.
Ding.
The doors glide open, and she steps inside. Just as they begin to close, they slide open again.
"Here."
Julian stands in front of the elevator, as if he never left.
"Oh…"
Grace's breath catches as Julian appears again—just when she thought he was gone. He steps into the elevator doorway and holds out a small clear packet. There's a bandage and a tiny tube of ointment inside it.
She stares, momentarily stunned.
"Umm… thank you so much for your help," she says, taking the items with both hands.
Julian doesn't reply. Instead, he meets her eyes—just for a second. His gaze is steady, unreadable, almost searching. Then, without a word, he turns away.
Should I say something? Should I stop him? Grace wonders, frozen in place.
But before she can decide, the elevator doors close again.
Julian stands still as they slide shut, the flicker of her face lingering behind the glass. He exhales quietly, almost inaudibly, and turns back toward the lobby entrance.
"It's just… a similar-looking girl," he murmurs under his breath.
But memories flood his mind like waves he's failed to outrun for a century. That other face—the one from long ago—still resides in his heart, undiminished by time. A face he'll never forget.
The girl from a hundred years ago… The one I lost. She's not here. This isn't her, Julian tells himself as he steps outside, the wind brushing against his jacket.
He mounts the motorcycle. The engine growls to life, low and steady, before he eases it back onto the quiet road.
Up on the eleventh floor, Grace unlocks the door to her room.
It's cozy—a cute double bed made with hotel precision, a modest mini bar, a sliding-door closet, and a sleek bathroom with marble tiles. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city of Mellany twinkles in the dusk like a constellation brought to earth.
But she doesn't care. Not now.
Grace throws her body onto the bed, arms and legs sprawled. The sheets are soft, crisp, and smell faintly of lavender. Still, none of it soothes the exhaustion pressing into her bones.
"God… please help me…" she whispers into the ceiling.
Her chest rises and falls slowly, the weight of the day settling heavier with every breath. How am I supposed to get back home without my passport? How am I going to last a week in this city with no money? She clenches her fists against the blankets. I don't even have my phone…
There's no starting point. No obvious first step. The situation feels like a puzzle dumped out without edge pieces.
And then, like a sudden thought cutting through fog—him. The guy who saved her. The one who stepped in back there, as if he just knew.
The image of him flickers in her mind. The way he looked at me. The quiet confidence. The strange way he seemed both familiar and distant.
I don't even know his name…
Grace sighs, turning her head toward the window. Well, it's not like I didn't try—he never told me. Still…
A strange feeling brews in her chest. A mix of unease and warmth, like something forgotten trying to resurface.
There's something about him, she thinks. Aside from the fact that he looks like the guy from my dream—there's just… something.
She chews the inside of her cheek.
Maybe it's the way he carries himself… the way his eyes feel too deep to read, or how sharp and symmetrical his features are. Maybe it's just because he's strinkingly good-looking and my brain is playing tricks on me.
She groans, pressing a pillow over her face. "God, why am I thinking about how handsome he is right now?"
A quiet laugh escapes her lips despite everything.
The chaos hasn't gone anywhere. But somehow, that laugh makes it all feel just a little less overwhelming.
Still with her eyes closed, Grace slips into that memory—one she's been trying not to revisit.
The moment the gangster grabbed her. The way his grip tightened, his intentions unmistakable. And then… the guy. That guy, stepping in like a shadow out of nowhere. Calm, precise, terrifying in his silence. He didn't even hesitate.
The memory sends a sharp jolt through her, and suddenly, the sting in her arms returns—hot and raw.
She sits up slowly, wincing as her back hits the headboard. On the bedside table, the small packet the guy handed her earlier rests quietly, as if waiting for her. She picks up the bandage and the little tube of ointment with both hands, her fingers trembling slightly.
Feeling uneasy, Grace gets to her feet and walks barefoot to the bathroom. She turns on the faucet, letting the cold water run over her hands before bringing it to her wounds. Her white short-sleeved t-shirt only makes the redness on her arms stand out more sharply.
She winces. The sting bites at her skin as the water washes over the broken flesh, but she doesn't stop. Her lips tighten, and she pushes through, scrubbing gently until the blood is rinsed away and the wounds look clean—at least on the surface.
Then, she tears open the packet with shaking fingers, squeezes the ointment onto each scar, and presses the bandages into place, wrapping them carefully.
All done, she tells herself, stepping back from the mirror.
She returns to the bed and drops onto it, limbs heavy with exhaustion.
What am I going to do from now on…?
The thought spins in her head like a carousel she can't get off. No passport. No money. No phone. No clue where her friend's wedding is. Grace covers her face with both hands, completely baffled. Everything was taken. Her identity, her access, her connection to the world outside this hotel.
Only if my phone was here… she thinks, exhaling a long, defeated sigh.
She just wants to forget everything—just for a moment. Rest. Breathe. Escape. The sunlight pouring in from the tall windows makes the room feel too alive, too bright.
She walks over to the curtain and yanks it closed. Darkness falls instantly, cool and quiet.
Without another thought, Grace climbs back into the bed. She crawls beneath the blanket, pulls it over her shoulders, and shuts her eyes.
I don't know how I'll solve this. But for now… I just need to sleep. A real sleep. And maybe God will help me figure it out when I wake up.
She sinks into the sheets. Her body is finally still. Her breathing slows.
Around an hour passes.
And in the midst of a deep sleep—
RING!
The hotel phone blares to life.
Grace jolts, her brows pinching into a scowl. She fumbles blindly on the bedside table until her fingers wrap around the receiver.
"Hello…" she says, voice groggy and low.
"Hello, Ma'am! This is the hotel front desk," chirps a bright, overly cheerful voice on the other end.
"Yes?" she mutters.
Her stomach growls, long and low. She's starving. Utterly miserable. And she has absolutely nothing—no cash, no card. All of it, gone with the robbery.
"Ma'am, just wanted to let you know—you can come to the lobby anytime to pick up your phone and a card that were brought in for you."
Grace blinks. She sits up straighter.
"Phone and… a card? You mean—my phone? My card?"
There's a short pause.
"Well… I'm not sure if the card is yours, Ma'am. It's under a different name. But yes, the phone definitely appears to be yours. Both items are waiting at the front desk. We'll keep them safe until you're ready."
Grace's eyes widen, heartbeat quickening.
Who left the phone and the card for me?
The question hangs in the air for a second before clarity dawns on her.
It must be… him. Grace's breath catches. That guy. The one who saved me earlier. I thought he left… but he came back. He came back and left these for me?
She brings the phone closer to her mouth again.
"Um… I just want to ask," she says hesitantly, "the guy who left the card—was he, uh… wearing a leather jacket?"
A short pause on the other end. "Yes, I think so," the hotelier replies in that same chipper tone.
Grace's heart beats a little faster.
"Well, okay. I'll come down now and get it."
"Of course, Ma'am. We'll be waiting."
"Thanks," she murmurs, and ends the call.
She doesn't waste another second.
Throwing back the covers, Grace practically leaps out of bed. Her bare feet slap against the floor as she hurries into the hallway and taps the elevator button with impatient fingers. As the elevator hums down toward the lobby, her mind spins.
He came back. Why would he come back? Why didn't he just give them to me directly?
The doors slide open.
She rushes toward the front desk. "Hi, I was just on the phone a few minutes ago… about the card and the phone?"
The hotelier smiles gently, already reaching under the counter. From a shelf below, they produce a sleek black iPhone and a single credit card.
"Here you go, Ma'am."
"Thank you…" Grace breathes, accepting both items.
The phone feels unfamiliar in her hand—definitely not hers. Her phone was white. This one is matte black, clean, and a little heavier. She flips the credit card over and reads the name.
"Julian Lenter."
She reads it quietly.
So that's your name.
Julian Lenter—the guy who pulled her from danger, brought her to safety. The one whose face—those eyes, that stillness—looks exactly like the man in her dream.
A wave rises inside her chest—fluttering, warm, and overwhelming. Her throat tightens.
Tears begin to brim in her eyes, uninvited.
The hotelier notices. "Ma'am, do you want a tissue?"
Grace blinks rapidly, caught off guard. She shakes her head, embarrassed. "No… It's fine. Thank you."
She turns away slowly, grasping the phone and the card like something precious.
The lobby doors slide open, and the light outside washes over her.
A bustling city street stretches out before her—sunlight dancing on storefronts, people moving like currents in a river, voices humming through the warm spring air.
Grace stands still, a moment suspended in time, as the wind lifts strands of her hair.
Who are you, Julian Lenter…?