The rain had started sometime around dawn.
Ariadne sat curled on her secondhand couch, wrapped in a threadbare blanket with holes at the edges, watching the gray sky bleed into the cracked windows. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, untouched.
She hadn't slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him walking away.
She'd replayed it over and over. His face, his stillness, the exact moment his gaze broke from hers. No flicker of recognition. No confusion. Just… distance.
But he saw me.
She was sure of it. And the fact that he'd turned away,that he'd left without a word,burned worse than if he hadn't remembered her at all.
The dreams hadn't lied. He existed. He was real. And now, more than ever, he felt impossibly far.
She got up, restless, pacing her small studio apartment. The floor creaked under her steps, the old wood groaning with every pass.
"I can't lose him again," she muttered under her breath.
She hadn't dared tell anyone. Her coworkers at the café barely acknowledged her presence as it was. Her landlady would probably threaten to evict her if she brought up magical dreams and mysterious strangers again.
But still… there had to be something she missed. A thread. A sign.
Her eyes landed on the street map she'd taped to the wall. Pins and notes marked where she'd seen him. Or thought she might. Most were crossed out.
Except for one.
The bar.
She pulled on her coat,still damp from yesterday and grabbed her notebook. Maybe someone had seen where the black car went. Maybe she could describe the men. Ask around. Follow something.
Anything.
She didn't care if people laughed. She didn't care if it made her look unhinged. She'd looked worse before.
This wasn't about pride. It was about him.
The one her soul wouldn't let her forget.
The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle by the time Ariadne made it back to the bar.
It looked the same as it always did—neon sign buzzing faintly, windows fogged from the warmth inside, that familiar weight of disappointment sitting just beneath her ribs. But she pushed through the door anyway.
Jasper barely looked up as she stepped in, as if he expected her.
"Back again," he said.
She walked up to the counter, notebook in hand, heart pounding with a mix of hope and dread. "The men who came in last night," she began, voice tight, "four of them. One with black hair and sharp eyes. Tall. Pale. Quiet. Any idea who they were?"
Jasper frowned, thinking. "Wasn't much of a night crew yesterday. You sure you're not confusing it with another dream?"
She grit her teeth. "No. I saw them. Right here. They left just minutes after arriving."
He scratched his chin. "No names. No tabs. Don't think anyone spoke to them. I don't even think most folks noticed they came in."
She glanced around. A couple of regulars sat near the back, nursing beers and conversations.
She tried them. All of them.
Descriptions. Questions. Sketchy hand gestures and stammered details. Every person gave her the same furrowed brow, the same apologetic shake of the head.
"Nah, don't remember anyone like that."
"Sorry, sweetheart, think you've got the wrong place."
"No offense, but you sure they weren't just in your head?"
She walked out into the damp air with a notebook full of nothing and a heart that ached worse than before.
No one remembered.
No one saw them but me.
That should've made her doubt herself. But it didn't.
It just made her more certain.
They weren't normal. None of them were.
And he… he was something else entirely. She was going to find him no matter what.