What's up my lovely people!

College will suck the life out of me, and I need to complete one of the dozens of half finished books in my laptop.
So naturally, I started an entirely new book. No worries though, I spent weeks thinking the storyline, so I'll finish it!
Hope you enjoy!

01. A. Hindsight

It’s raining.

23rd November, 2022.

Water pools around the sidewalks in little puddles. The street would’ve been flecked with pedestrians is empty right now. People have long hurried to find shelter or changed their plans for the night, leaving only the persistent patter of falling rain in the air. 

She keeps walking.

Weather reports had already warned her to keep an umbrella in her bag at all times, the black shade now propped up over her head.

She passes by a Starbucks, and snickers.

Right about now, the investigators must be calling all Starbucks near UCLA to ask about a dark haired woman with an order of a double espresso around 11 pm.

Poor souls.

The meeting place is a narrow alleyway behind one of the plazas.

Really, why do people keep on insisting that alleys make for good meeting spots? They’re cramped, they stink, it looks terribly shady when two masked people exchange envelopes in such a place— especially if it’s raining.

Regardless, she reaches the one-sided agreed-upon place, and finds another masked figure waiting.

The one good thing Covid brought— people now realize how useful cough masks can be.

“I’ve been waiting,” She can hear the scowl in that tone

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Her voice is a contrast the their surrounding— cheeky and uncaring

Her Handler is already wet, despite the small shade of a protruding window above his head. Slanted eyes narrow further, brows pulling close in annoyance.

“Here’s your cut.” She tosses a heavy envelope his way, he catches it effortlessly

Suspicious of her as ever, despite the years they’ve worked together, he pulls the envelope open to check the money.

She waits, foot tapping against the wet concert impatiently. Rare as it is, sometimes, the client pays her instead of her Handler, and he’s always suspicious that she’d keep more than her share.

Distrustful bastard.

Satisfied with his counting, he pockets the money “Your cover?”

Huffing at the needless question, she taps her head, the short black bob of hair.

“I’m wearing the wig, aren’t I?” She’s discarded the contacts already, taking them off as soon as she got away from the client

He grunts in acknowledgement “I’ll call when another patron asks for you.”

Which wouldn’t be long. She’s rather famous in the market at the moment.

“Try not to call at ungodly hours,” She drawls out, turning away already “I need my beauty sleep.”

Nearing the end of the alley, her feet stop. Taking a deep breath, she turns back, knowing her handler is still there. He looks back at her, even from just the top half of his face, she can tell he’s confused at why she stopped.

“Y’know,” She says, voice somber for once “I should tell you…”

A smile curves at her mouth, even though he can’t see it, bright and cheeky.

“You’re getting old, Henry. I kept a thousand from your cut and you didn’t even notice!”

He startles, eyes wide, fumbling with his pocket to get the envelope “Wha— You brat!”

Cackling loud, she turns the corner, gone before he can say anything else. Henry wont chase after her anyway, his old, miserly bones don’t like to work much. She didn’t take the money, but he’ll have one hell of a night recounting it over and over.

Snickering, she starts towards her own dwelling, a grueling walk from here.

In the wee hours before dawn, in such dreary weather, a girl walking alone on the streets of Los Angeles ought to be quieter, more careful, even in such a calm neighborhood.

She would know, she’s one of the reasons cautious tales exist.

…

Timing always screws her over.

Though, in her defense, two poor bastards are easily taken care of. It’s the annoyance that comes with the task that’s more bothersome.

It’d stopped raining a while ago, and her little bob cut wig is stuffed in her bag along with the umbrella, her own hair freed of its dozen pins and gathered in a messy braid. She pulls her other hand out of her pocket, prepared. She sighs as she hears the footsteps getting closer, flexes her fingers.

“Hey—

She turns, one arm pulled back, and then she sees him— an entirely different man from the two she’d seen following her— but she’s already caught in the momentum.

He moves out of the way.

Her fist swings at air, feet caught off guard due to surprise.

And she falls face first onto the muddy concrete.

Silence.

Slowly, she pushes herself up with scraped palms, very aware of the stunned gazes of the two guys that were following her, the bastard who’d stepped aside before her fist could reach him.

Her face is slathered with dirty water, chin singing with distant pain. With a somber, deep breath, she sits, clothes wet-ish anyways, and lets her eyes close.

“Fuck my timing.”

Someone snorts. She resists a scoff.

“Are you alright?” The voice comes from her left, from the person who catalyzed this situation

“Fantastic,” She says, getting up on her own. She picks up her fallen bag, digging through its pockets for a wad of tissues crammed in there

Only then does she realize her wig it gone.

“Is this yours?”

Her bob cut wig is extended towards her, a little wet from the water.

“Oh,” Her irritation subsides somewhat, as she reaches for it. So this is why he called her. “Thank—

She looks up.

It’s a moment derailed from the smooth flow of time, a frame blurred in an otherwise smooth film.

It’s a face she knows intimately. Even years after seeing it in person, she’s still remembers it vividly. She could confuse her own face from the hundreds of masks she wears, but never this one.

The sound of blood rushing to her head is loud, her physical existence removed from the now and hurled back 7 years in time.
Breathe.

In front of her, Abel Escarra, owner of half the shares of Carlisle Escarra and the massive fortune the jewelry company owns, tips his head to a side.

All at once, she’s thrown back into her own body.

“Thank you.” Her voice comes out even, forever her ally 

She shoves it away and finds her wad of tissue papers, discarding her ruined mask to wipe at her face. Her head is unnervingly quiet.

“Hardly,” He says, with a grimace towards her scraped hands “I could’ve stopped you from falling.”

But he stepped aside, as he had once before. He’d faced no consequence then, nor would he face any now.

She assesses him in a glance. The tall man in front of her is clad in a warm sweater, the collar of a shirt peeking through, and dark jeans. He’s holding a light coat in one arm. Raven hair brushed neatly, falling over his left temple almost hiding a bandage there, dark blue eyes carefully apologetic.

She doesn’t see any umbrella, and the rain stopped not long ago.  

It’s easy to pretend she doesn’t know who he is, easier to slip behind the mask she’d chosen for today. Breath returns to her lungs. A script unfolds in her mind.

“Its fine,” She tosses the used tissue aside, with no regard for recycling “I misread the situation. I thought you were about to mug me.”

Or worse. But that goes without saying.

He looks back at the empty street “It’s not very safe to be out at this time. Especially for a girl.”

“I could say the same to you,” She says calmly “You shouldn’t walk around alone, especially so deliberately dressed down.”

Surprise. In and out of his face. “Deliberately dressed down?”

A smile curves at her lips, hands secured in the pockets of her jacket again.

“I shouldn’t assume,” She shrugs nonchalantly “But you look like the suit and tie kind.”

He guffaws quietly, shoulders shaking “You’re very perceptive, miss.”

Not really. He’s not actually trying to hide it. Even the way he speaks leaks a social circle entirely different from most people. The soft smile he wears is conceited through and through, edged with the confidence of invincibility.

There’s the sickening urge to walk away as soon as possible, but there’s another, the need to smile at him in the same way he looks at the word, like someone far beyond grasp.

Admittedly, the latter is much stronger.

“I’m headed for a chess café just a block from here,” She points forward “If you don’t mind, I’d like to thank you for the help.”

He’s assessing her in a way everyone who sees this face does, not the mocking expression she remembers him by.

“Do you play?”

She nods, knowing she’s caught the string of his curiosity, starting ahead.

“Just in passing.” Her lips curve on command “Though I wish I was good enough to play for money. And you?”

He walks by her side, the faint scent of his cologne reaches her— a woody, oriental concoction.

“My father’s a fanatic.” He divulges flippantly “So naturally, if I ever wanted to hold conversations with him I had to learn. I personally don’t like it.”

“Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder “Just a preference.”

She casts him a glance from the corner of her eyes, assessing the careless demeanor. There must be more than that, but before that train of thought can move forward he turns his eyes back to her.

“Why the wig?” His brows go up, curious

A practiced laugh escapes her, lies come as easy to her as breathing “Blind date in place of a friend.”

It wasn't really a lie. This job wasn't supposed to be hers, but as of two days ago, she was the sole remaining professional for the task.

He gives her an odd look, surprise maybe, but they reach the café before he could say anything.

It's a homely little place, tucked away in a narrow street that isn't the best spot for a cafe. She's been here twice in the last two days.

He reaches for the chessboard on the table, but she pushes it aside with a hand.

“Can we get a deck of cards, please?” She asks the waiter, knowing they have those too

Abel Escarra raises his brows at her in question. She throws a soft smile at him, one that says she knows more than he does. It’s unfortunate that she finds no satisfaction in the gesture.

“Neither of us prefers chess,” She says calmly “So we might as well play something else.”

A tired looking waiter drops a deck of cards at the table with a murmur. She flashes him a bright smile as she thanks him. The man blinks the sleep from his expression, cheeks flushing, and hurries away.

“I know even less about card games than I know about chess.” Abel watches her shuffle the cards with the grace of a seasoned player “What game are we going to play?”

“German Whist. Or Honeymoon Whist, as someone people prefer to call it.”

Amusement crosses his face “Rules?”

She explains the rules in short statements, dealing them 13 cards each as she does. A game of trickery, luck and skill as you work with partial information, guessing at what might be going through your opponent’s mind.

Once she’s finished with both, she sets the deck down, top card facing up. They each pick up their hand.

“Shall we start?”

Games play quick, silent tension on the table, their coffee gone without notice or leisurely enjoyment. One game melts into another seamlessly. 

Observant. Composed. Quick to adapt.

She shows her hand “I win.”

Another adds to the unbroken chain of her successes for the night.

“Again.” He says, leaving no room for negotiation, diplomacy dwindled to a shred in the last few hours.

Sour loser. She adds to her list of observations, each a weapon to study and hone later.

“You’re a remarkably fast learner.” A troublesome finding on her part.

Against a less seasoned player, he would’ve won by now. She collects all the cards, places the deck back in its case.

“But we won’t be playing another round.” She stands to her feet “It’s about time for me to leave.”

Ocean eyes snap to her, pulled out of a reverie. He glances at the clock against the café’s wall. It’s been three hours since they entered. She’s been aware of every minute.

“I didn’t notice the time.” He says, a hint of surprise leaks in his voice

Somewhere in the last three hours, it’s stared pouring again. The smell of rain engulfs her in a crisp embrace, clearing her mind.

She pulls the folded umbrella from her bag and extends it.

For yet another time in the last few hours, he looks caught off guard “What about you?”

“I live close by,” She says evenly “Consider it a repayment for the nice company.”

He stares at her a moment “If anything, I’m the one who should repay you.”

You can never, some part of her snarls.

“That’s fine.” She offers a shrug “It was as good a use of my time as any.”  

Finally, his hand closes around the umbrella “I never caught your name.”

You know my name, bitterness seeps into her mouth, you took it from me.

Now she has more than a hundred. None of them fits quite right.

“Lyra.” It fits oddly in her mouth, rolls off strangely from her tongue. It’s the name she’s been given by her employers, another laugh at her circumstances

He gives her a bright smile then, this one reaching his eyes. She’s momentarily caught off guard, by this display of sincerity from this creature, only because she’s caught his attention as some mildly interesting thing.

“Lyra,” He repeats softly, and its odd hearing that name, addressed towards her. She doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Abel.” He reaches forward a hand “We should meet again sometime. To finish the game, and to return your umbrella.”

She stares at his hand for a long moment, before tucking her own away in her pockets.

“I don’t think we will.” Lyra says calmly “As for the umbrella, you’re free to throw it away.”

Once more, he seems to stumble at her response. He pulls back as easily as he’d reached forward.

“That’s a shame.” 

She casts him one final glance, a hundred thoughts ricochet through her mind, a million things to say or do. She swallows every reckless urge whole.

Instead she turns to walk away to her little one room hotel, several blocks away, cold rain settling over her.

It’s a shame indeed, that closure is so close, yet so far from her grasp.

…

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New chapters every Sunday.