The next day, we gathered once again at the same place, at the same time. A quiet current of tension crackled between us, heavy with anticipation.
It was as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if today would be the day everything changed.
"I'll go in as if I'm here for a job interview—a Personal Assistant position," I explained, pacing slowly in front of them.
My voice was steady, but inside, my heart was galloping.
"If they tell me there's no such vacancy, I'll act confused, apologize, and casually make my way out. But just before Mr. Georgio walks in, I'll make it seem like we bump into each other. It has to look completely natural."
Xander crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly.
"How will you even recognize him? Do you know what he looks like?"
I turned, eyes flicking between Vlad and Dylan.
"That's where you two come in. I need eyes on the ground. The moment one of you sees him—give me something. The color of his suit, the way he walks, anything that helps me identify him quickly. Send it to me telepathically."
Vlad raised an eyebrow, gesturing between himself and Dylan.
"Both of us?"
"Yes. Whoever sees him first, send it. No hesitation."
"We've got it," Dylan replied, voice calm and clipped.
"Don't worry, we'll be watching."
Xander leaned forward, his expression more serious now.
"What about Plan B?"
I paused, drawing a slow breath.
"If Plan A doesn't work, and I fail to make contact, then we wait. Once he's finished his business inside, I'll try again. Maybe I'll drop something, ask for directions—anything that puts me in his path. Meanwhile, all of you stick to your tasks. No improvising unless absolutely necessary."
Everyone nodded. The moment was thick with understanding.
That night, I barely slept. Morning came too soon.
I stood in front of the mirror in the small guest room, adjusting the black blazer over my white blouse and smoothing the skirt that fell just above my knees.
I needed to look polished but not intimidating. Professional yet unassuming. The perfect balance between a capable candidate and a forgettable face.
A knock broke my focus.
"It's time," came Xander's voice from the hallway.
When I opened the door, he stood there in a sharp charcoal-gray suit. It hugged his form with precision, and the quiet confidence in his stance was unmistakable.
"You ready?" he asked, his gaze searching mine for any trace of doubt.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Downstairs, the rest of the team was waiting.
Vlad in a tailored black coat that seemed to drink in the light, Dylan in relaxed streetwear that let him blend in effortlessly, and Oregon, ever the silent protector, wore muted greens and browns—his bow cleverly hidden in a worn guitar case strapped across his back.
We shared brief nods. No words were necessary. Then we left.
The city was already awake, buzzing with early morning traffic and sharp rays of sunlight reflecting off mirrored skyscrapers.
But as we approached the tall steel-and-glass headquarters, something changed.
A weight settled in my chest. There was an energy radiating from the building that didn't quite belong. It wasn't malevolent—but it was alert. Watchful.
"Feel anything strange?" I whispered as we slowed near the corner.
Vlad, who had been scanning the structure with narrowed eyes, shook his head faintly.
"Nothing overtly dangerous. But we proceed carefully."
We broke off in pairs. Xander and I walked the final stretch together.
Just before we reached the front steps, he gently tugged my elbow, stopping me.
"Be careful," he said, his voice low and solemn.
He reached out, fixing the collar of my blazer with a soft, lingering touch.
"I will," I replied, quieter now. "You too."
We split off, and I pushed through the revolving door, heart pounding behind my ribs like a war drum.
The lobby gleamed—white marble, brushed steel, towering windows letting in golden sunlight. I approached the reception desk, mustering a smile.
"Hi. I'm here for an interview for the Personal Assistant position," I said, trying to sound confident, but with just enough hesitation to seem human.
The receptionist frowned, checking her screen.
"I'm sorry, I don't have anything scheduled for that position today."
I widened my eyes, placing a hand over my mouth.
"Oh no, really? Maybe I got the date wrong. I'm so sorry to bother you."
"It happens," she said with a polite smile. "Do you want me to check with HR?"
"No, that's okay. I'll just… head out. Thank you."
I turned slowly, scanning the glass corridor behind me, where people passed with purposeful strides.
Then, a whisper curled into my mind like smoke.
"He's here." It was Dylan's voice.
"Navy suit. Dark brown hair. Confident. He's heading toward the elevators now."
I moved. Smoothly, subtly, pretending to check my phone as I rounded the corner. And then I saw him.
Mr. Georgio.
He was taller than I expected, exuding effortless power. His suit was crisp, his dark brown hair swept back in a way that said he didn't just follow trends—he set them.
He carried himself like a man used to making the world bend to his will.
It was now or never.
I stepped forward and—
"Oh!" I gasped as I brushed against his side.
He caught me with a reflex as swift as it was graceful.
"I'm so sorry!" I said breathlessly, letting panic flash in my eyes.
He steadied me, offering a composed smile.
"No harm done."
But for just one second, his eyes lingered on me. Curious. Calculating.
That second might be all I needed.
But nothing extraordinary about him. The moment he touched me, I didn't feel anything, he was just like an ordinary human.
No sign of immortality.
Suddenly, another man stepped between us.
"Excuse me, Mr. Georgio, we need to go," he said, his voice smooth and clipped.
I blinked, startled.
"Oh—my apologies for interrupting."
And that was when I saw him.
The man beside Mr Georgio.
His eyes—deep, oceanic blue with a storm hidden beneath their calm—locked onto mine.
Familiar. Strangely so. Golden-blonde waves framed his face like a halo sculpted by moonlight.
I knew him.
The fruit festival. He was that guy.
"You…" I breathed.
He smiled, dazzling and disarming all at once.
"Excuse us, please," he said, then winked.
Something inside me froze—and then fluttered.
Before I could say another word, he turned and escorted Mr. Georgio away.
Across the lobby, near a wide window, Xander stood watching. His expression tightened the moment he caught my eye. Concern. Curiosity. Suspicion.
"What happened, Leighton?"
Vlad's voice cut through my thoughts, urgent and crisp.
"Something's not right," I whispered back, my heart thundering.
Because in that moment, I wasn't sure what I had just seen.
But I was certain it would change everything.