Whispers in the Dark

Rain pattered against the cafe windows, soft and steady, like a clock counting down to something Kael couldn't name. The place was almost empty—just the faint buzzing of the coffee machine, the smell of roasted beans, and Riven sitting across from him, half-hidden under the edge of his black cap.

Kael's laptop was placed open between them, its screen glowing with lines of coaded text they'd been trying to crack for the past hour. It wasn't homework. It wasn't even remotely legal.

"This code's different," Riven murmured, leaning forward. His voice was low, almost swallowed by the rain. "Whoever sent this didn't want it to be found."

Kael's eyes drifted from the screen to Riven's face. The shadows in the cafe painted sharp angles across his cheekbones, making him look more dangerous, more untouchable. But there was something in his eyes—focus, yes, but softer when they met Kael's gaze.

"And yet," Kael said quietly, "we found it."

Riven didn't smile. He tapped a few keys, his fingers moving with mechanical precision. "Finding it's the easy part. Understanding it? That's where it gets tricky."

Kael wasn't sure if they were still talking about the code.

They'd stumbled into this mess two weeks ago, when an anonymous email had landed in Kael's inbox—a jumble of symbols, coordinates, and a single sentence in a language neither of them spoke. He could've ignored it. He should've ignored it. But curiosity had the best of him, and Riven… Riven had glanced at it once and said, This isn't random.

Now here they were, pulling at a thread they couldn't see the end of.

"You think it's connected to the break-in?" Kael asked.

Riven didn't look up from the screen. "I think it's connected to something bigger."

The "break-in" had been more than a news headline for them. Someone had raided a storage unit across the city, leaving behind nothing but a trail of smashed locks and a scattering of classified-looking files. Rumor was, those files belonged to someone who shouldn't have had them in the first place.

Kael tapped the table in a regular pattern. "We should be careful."

At that, Riven's lips curled—just a fraction. "Careful doesn't get answers."

The words hit Kael harder than they should've. Maybe because they felt… familiar.

It happened suddenly.

One moment Kael was watching Riven, the next his vision flickered—like a faulty film reel. The cafe dissolved, replaced by a dim yellow lited room heavy with the scent of gunpowder and rain-soaked leather. His own hands weren't his own—they were gloved, steady, holding a pistol. Across him stood Riven, younger but sharper somehow, eyes burning with the same mix of danger and trust Kael felt now.

"We don't have much time," Riven's voice echoed—not here, but somewhere in that other place. "Do you trust me?"

Kael's heart slammed against his ribs.

Then—snap—he was back in the café, fingers gripping his coffee cup so tightly it might shatter. Riven was staring at him now, brow furrowed.

"You okay?"

Kael blinked. "Yeah. Just… spaced out."

He didn't tell him what he saw.

They spent another hour on the code before Riven shut the laptop. "We're getting nowhere tonight."

Outside, the rain had thickened into a steady downpour. They shared Riven's umbrella on the walk back, the space between them small enough that Kael could feel the brush of his arm. Neither of them spoke, but Kael kept glancing at Riven's face in the dim streetlight, wondering if he'd seen that exact face before—only in a different lifetime, in a different scenario.

By the time they reached the corner where they'd part ways, Kael almost stopped him. Almost told him about the flashback, about the way it felt like remembering a dream that wasn't a dream.

But Riven's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it once, expression tightening, and then he was gone, disappearing into the rain.

Kael stood there for a long time, the echo of that other voice—Do you trust me?—still occupied in his thoughts.

Later that night, Kael couldn't sleep. The code, the break-in, the flashback—they spun together in his mind like threads of the same rope. He opened his laptop and pulled up the email again.

The symbols stared back at him. Somewhere in that mess was an answer, maybe even a truth he wasn't ready to face.

But one thing was certain.

Whatever this was, it wasn't over.