CH.21
There was always something about windows at night—how they reflected the quiet intimacy of a person's world while leaving faint glimpses of their lives for strangers to see. From the apartment across the alley, a pair of watchful eyes followed the golden glow flickering behind Celeste Adler's curtains. The light had been growing steadier in the past days, casting soft patterns on the worn brick walls outside. For the man who called himself Ellis Grady, those glimpses were less about idle curiosity and more about unease that he couldn't quite shake.
Ellis had lived across the alley from Celeste for six months now, long enough to know the irregular rhythms of her life. She was the kind of person whose absence had a presence of its own. The hallway would be silent for days, and then she'd return all at once, bringing with her the faint scent of old books and machine oil. Something about her reminded Ellis of the researchers he used to work with—people whose thoughts traveled just beyond the edges of where others could follow. Celeste carried that same air of someone chasing something bigger than herself.
And lately, the chase had become louder.
---
Ellis's apartment was small, unassuming—a desk by the window, a battered laptop glowing faintly against the cluttered walls, and stacks of old notebooks covered in handwritten scribbles. The window provided his only escape, a portal to the narrow world of the alley and the lives across from him. Celeste's window had become the epicenter of his attention over the last few weeks. He told himself it wasn't spying; it was more like... monitoring. The glow was new, an unnatural kind of light that didn't belong in their dim corner of the city. And Ellis, for all his quiet habits, was still a man who noticed patterns.
He had once been a systems analyst, back when the world hadn't yet smothered him in static. Patterns were his language, his solace. The machines behind Celeste's curtain hummed in such a way that they begged him to pay attention, almost as if calling to him.
---
That night, Ellis leaned back in his chair, mug in hand, and stared out at her window. Celeste's silhouette moved restlessly behind the curtain, her pacing punctuated by the faint bursts of light that spilled into the alley. His fingers tapped absently against the mug as he pieced together what little he knew about her: the whispered name "Ethan," murmured on evenings when the alley had been quiet enough to catch her muffled voice through the open window. The moments when she would disappear, only to return more worn, yet somehow more determined. And the machinery—the steady hum that had grown louder, almost alive, as if responding to her.
For a man who had spent his life making sense of the incomprehensible, Celeste's puzzle was irresistible. It wasn't that he wanted to interfere—he wasn't that kind of neighbor. But it was hard not to wonder. Harder still to ignore the way her movements behind that curtain felt charged with urgency, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her slender shoulders.
That's why, when the light flickered violently that night, Ellis felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
---
The glow behind the curtain intensified, spilling golden light into the alley like a beacon. Ellis squinted, leaning closer to the window as he tried to make sense of the shapes dancing in the light. He swore he saw patterns—shifting, spiraling, beautiful in their chaos. Then came the hum, low and deep, reverberating through his chest like distant thunder. Ellis set his mug down carefully, his hands steady but his mind racing.
"What are you doing in there, Celeste?" he muttered under his breath.
For a moment, the light dimmed, and her silhouette stopped moving. Ellis held his breath, waiting for what might come next. And then, faint but unmistakable, he heard her voice—a strained whisper that reached across the alley, carrying words he couldn't fully make out. But one name cut through the static:
"Ethan."
The name lingered in the air like a ghost, and Ellis found himself gripping the windowsill, his mind scrambling to connect the dots. He had heard her say it before, always in those quiet, desperate tones. Whoever Ethan was, he wasn't just a memory. That much, Ellis was certain of.
---
Hours passed, and the glow behind the curtain finally faded, leaving the alley in darkness once more. But Ellis couldn't sleep. He sat at his desk, flipping through one of his old notebooks, his thoughts looping back to what he had just witnessed. He thought about the hum, the patterns, the golden light that seemed more alive than it should have been.
He remembered what it had felt like to work with systems that behaved unpredictably, to see them slip beyond human control. And he wondered—not for the first time—if Celeste had crossed some unseen line between the world of the living and the unexplainable.
The next morning, Ellis opened his window, hoping for some sign of life across the alley. Celeste's curtains were drawn tight, and the apartment was silent. He considered knocking on her door, asking her outright what she was working on. But he knew better than to intrude. People like Celeste didn't share their burdens easily, especially not with strangers.
Still, Ellis couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was watching something extraordinary unfold, something that transcended the mundane reality of their shared alley. He didn't know what Celeste was chasing, or why the name Ethan seemed to hang over her like a shadow. But he had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, it would change her world—and perhaps his—forever.