Chapter 4

Athasia stopped abruptly in front of a reporter standing near the edge of the chaotic scene. The man, dressed in a wrinkled shirt and clutching a microphone in one hand, froze as her glowing green eyes locked onto his. There was something about her presence—a commanding air that silenced the nervous chatter around her. The man's grip on his equipment tightened as he stared at the platinum-haired girl who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Can I borrow your bike?" Her voice was calm, almost disarmingly polite, but the undertone left no room for refusal. "Thanks. I'll return it tomorrow."

The reporter blinked, his mouth opening as though to protest, but no words came out. Before he could gather his wits, Athasia's gaze shifted from him to the sleek black bike parked nearby. She didn't wait for a response. With a fluid motion, she turned away and strode toward it, her long hair catching the faint light of the streetlamps.

The crowd of onlookers, including the other reporters and cameramen, stared in stunned silence as she mounted the bike. The engine roared to life beneath her hands, the sound sharp and commanding as it echoed through the night. She gave the reporter one last glance, her eyes cold but strangely calm, before twisting the throttle.

The bike surged forward, and she was gone, disappearing into the labyrinth of city streets before anyone could react. The stunned reporter finally snapped out of his daze, but all he could do was watch as the mysterious girl sped away, the taillight of the bike fading into the distance like a fleeting ghost.

Athasia leaned forward slightly as she rode, her movements fluid and precise. The cold wind whipped through her hair, its icy touch sharp against her skin. The streets stretched out before her, illuminated by the glow of flickering streetlights and the neon signs of the city's nightlife. The hum of the engine was steady, a rhythmic reminder of her escape and the path ahead.

She didn't need a map or directions; her instincts guided her. The memories that weren't hers yet felt deeply familiar pulled her forward, like an invisible thread leading her through the winding streets. Every turn, every corner seemed to spark fragments of recognition—the way the lights of a certain intersection reflected off the windows of a nearby building, the faint scent of food wafting from a street vendor she passed. It all felt strangely familiar, yet foreign.

The night blurred around her as she sped through the city, her focus unyielding. The streets grew quieter as she moved away from the bustling center, the towering skyscrapers giving way to more modest buildings. Finally, she slowed the bike, her eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings.

The apartment building came into view—old, worn, and tucked away in a quieter part of the city. Its chipped paint and flickering sign seemed almost out of place compared to the vibrant chaos she had just left behind. Yet, something about it felt right, felt like home.

Athasia brought the bike to a halt and killed the engine. The sudden silence enveloped her, broken only by the faint hum of the city in the distance. She dismounted gracefully, her movements deliberate as her gaze lingered on the building. This was where "she" had lived—the girl whose body she now inhabited. The memories confirmed it, tugging at her with a strange familiarity.

She stood there for a moment, the weight of the night settling over her. The apartment before her represented more than just a place to rest; it was the starting point of a life she hadn't chosen but was now hers to claim.