First message
The afternoon sun painted the Thames gold, turning the water into a ribbon of light beneath Westminster Bridge. Tourists crowded the railings, cameras raised toward Big Ben, but Niko barely noticed them. He’d spent enough years crossing oceans to stop collecting landmarks. Places were easy. People were interesting.
A woman stood a few yards away, studying the skyline with the kind of attention most tourists reserved for museum exhibits. No phone in her hand. No rushed photos. Just watching. That caught his attention.
He leaned against the railing, pretending to admire the view while stealing the occasional glance. American, if he had to guess. There was something familiar in the way she carried herself. Comfortable enough to travel alone. Uncomfortable enough to still be figuring out where she belonged. The corner of his mouth twitched. Maybe he was projecting. He considered leaving her alone. Then again, some of the best things in his life had started because he’d said hello to a stranger.
Alright, he muttered to himself. One conversation. He crossed the distance between them with easy confidence and rested his forearms on the railing. I’ve got a question. His tone was casual, as if they were already halfway through a conversation. If you had one day left in London, would you spend it doing something everyone tells you to do… He gestured toward the clocktower. …or doing something nobody’s heard of?