The morning air bit her cheeks as she ran, breath clouding like smoke in the frigid spring. Her boots hit the pavement in a frantic rhythm. Pedestrians blurred past her in streaks of wool scarves and rustling bags. The towering façade of Warsaw University loomed in the near distance like a clock ticking down.
Natalie Chmiel was very, very late.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" she whispered, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
She dashed through the front gates, bolted across the courtyard, and nearly slipped on a slick patch of sidewalk before catching herself with a wild, windmill-flailing motion. Her flaxen blonde hair was a mess, wind-tangled and sticking to her flushed face. Her breath came in short, embarrassed huffs.
She reached the classroom door, grabbed the handle, and threw it open.
Every head turned. The room stilled.
Professor Marek glanced over his glasses. His salt-and-pepper beard twitched ever so slightly with disapproval.
"Natalie Chmiel," he said slowly. "Why are you late again?"
Still catching her breath, Natalie straightened her coat and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Sir, I—there was a dog! A runaway! He was sprinting into the street, and no one was doing anything, so I chased him and returned him to his owner. She was crying, Professor. I swear."
A brief, lighthearted flashback played in her mind: Natalie lunging through the busy sidewalk, tackling a fluffy white mutt just before it darted between two parked cars. The grateful older woman had hugged her fiercely, tears streaking her cheeks as she clutched her dog.
Back in the classroom, the professor narrowed his eyes—but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
He chuckled. "Mrs. Chmiel… that's the third time this semester your lateness has been caused by something absurd."
Natalie flushed. "I know, sir. I really do! I'll work harder. I promise."
Professor Marek gave a long-suffering sigh. "You have a big heart, even if your stories stretch credibility. But if you're going to become a lawyer, put that heart and soul into it, Mrs. Chmiel."
Natalie beamed, nodded, and shuffled into her seat. As the lecture resumed, her smile lingered—but so did a distant thought in her eyes. A weight, soft and hidden, just beneath the bright exterior. The kind of weight no one else noticed, but that she carried nonetheless.
Outside, gray clouds gathered quietly over the rooftops of Warsaw.
***
The lecture halls of Warsaw University had long since emptied. The gray overcast above had dimmed to a slate hue, hanging heavy with the scent of coming rain. Students drifted out of the campus like leaves on a breeze—laughing, yawning, making dinner plans.
Natalie walked beside her best friend, Anka, weaving through the campus gates, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots filling the silence between them.
"Are you ever going to stop being late?" Anka teased, nudging her shoulder.
Natalie laughed softly, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. "Not if dogs keep escaping and running toward traffic. It's not like I planned to be a hero."
"Oh, Saint Natalie of the Chmiels," Anka said, mock-reverent. "Patron saint of lost puppies and bad excuses."
Natalie stuck her tongue out. "He was so fluffy. I couldn't just leave him. He looked like a loaf of bread with legs."
They both giggled, their boots clacking across the sidewalk as they turned onto a quieter street lined with sycamore trees and aging lampposts. The sky darkened a shade more.
Anka sighed, fishing a pack of gum from her coat pocket. "So, are you coming to that party tomorrow? Kasia's throwing it. Her cousin's band is playing—don't roll your eyes."
"I'm not rolling my eyes," Natalie said.
"You were rolling your eyes."
Natalie smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I might just stay home and catch up on readings. Professor Marek's hinting we're getting a mock trial assignment."
Anka studied her for a second. "You've been weird lately."
Natalie stiffened.
"Like... off. You zone out more. You forget stuff. Last week, you wrote 'Sasha' on your notes three times. Who's Sasha?"
Natalie blinked.
"I... I don't know. A dream, maybe?"
"Creepy," Anka muttered, chuckling uneasily. "You sure you're okay?"
Natalie opened her mouth to respond—but paused. Her eyes flicked to a narrow alley across the street. A man stood at the far end, half-shrouded in shadow. Not moving. Just watching.
Then a car passed, blocking her view for half a second—and he was gone.
"Natalie?"
She turned back quickly, faking a laugh. "Yeah. Sorry. Just tired."
Anka glanced down the street but saw nothing. "Okay... well, don't go full 'law school burnout' on me."
Natalie forced a smile and nodded. But her hands were trembling inside her coat pockets. Her breath had shortened just slightly. Something cold had brushed the back of her neck.
And for a moment, in the back of her mind, the name Sasha echoed again. Louder this time.
Anka glanced down at her wristwatch.
"Ah crap, I've got to get to my club meeting. Debate practice, ugh. See you tomorrow, Nat!"
She gave Natalie a quick hug and jogged off down the street, disappearing around a corner with a cheerful wave. Natalie waved back, her smile soft, genuine.
"Alright. See ya later!"
Natalie tucked her hands into her coat pockets and turned in the opposite direction. Her breath fogged faintly in the chill Warsaw air. The sidewalks shimmered with an earlier rain, the slick stone reflecting the pastel wash of twilight. She walked with a quiet bounce in her step, humming a soft, aimless tune under her breath—something half-remembered from childhood, perhaps, or a dream.
She didn't know why it came to her now.
She passed the gate, approaching the tram stop just beyond the university wall. Then— A breath against her shoulder. A brush of fabric.
Someone passed her.
Not uncommon. But this— This was different. The air seemed to still around them, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. Her vision narrowed. It was the faintest sensation—like waking from a dream you didn't know you were having.
Then... A voice. Inside her skull. Not her own. Whispering.
"Sasha."
Natalie stiffened. She blinked, her body moving in slow motion as if submerged underwater. More voices layered on top of that one. Dozens. Hundreds. Faint, echoing, crumbling voices from a hallway too dark to see down.
"You, me, and the end."
"Remember my name? If I don't return, okay?"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my son." A voice inside Natalie's head whispered, "I'm sorry I couldn't keep your promise. I'm sorry I forgot your name. If I can't remember you..."
Natalie spun her head slowly toward the figure who had just passed her. He walked just ahead. Grey blazer. Gloved hands in pockets. Shoulders relaxed. He moved like a man with nowhere to be—and all the time in the world to get there.
Then, he turned his head slightly. And their eyes met. Blue. Not cold. Not dead. Worse. They were warm. Calm. Disarmingly gentle. Like eyes that knew exactly who you were before you introduced yourself. And for a moment, Natalie saw her own reflection in them. Not as she was—but as she might've been, in another life. A flicker of recognition struck her deep in the gut, quick and quiet like a needle sliding beneath skin.
He smiled at her. A soft, knowing smile. Beautiful... Cruel. Then he turned forward again, stepping into the crosswalk with the languid confidence of someone certain he would not be stopped.
Natalie staggered, inhaling sharply. Her body fought between instinct and paralysis. "Wait!" she croaked, her voice breaking as she took a half-step forward. But he was already gone. Swallowed by a tide of hats and overcoats, his head vanishing into the stream of bodies moving along the boulevard.
Suddenly, a piece of paper twisted through the air in his wake, fluttering like a dying bird. It danced across the pavement and landed delicately at her feet.
"Huh?"
Natalie crouched automatically, heart pounding. Her fingers curled around the envelope. It was yellowed slightly, the corners creased. Faint handwriting traced the center.
To Sasha.
Natalie stood there for a moment, the city moving like static around her. Blurred and irrelevant. She looked up, scanning the crowd.
"Hey! You dropped this!" she shouted, voice higher now, desperate.
No reply. No one looked back. Her feet moved, but only a few steps. She stopped herself.
What was she doing?
She stared down at the envelope. "Was that boy a student?" she muttered. "Maybe someone in a different department? I've never seen him before…"
The questions spiraled, piling like smoke in her lungs. She sat down hard on a nearby bench. The envelope sat in her lap like a weight. The voices in her head had gone. But something colder had taken their place. A silence that tasted like old blood. She stared across the tramline, into the settling dusk. And for the first time in her life, Natalie Chmiel felt like her name didn't belong to her anymore.
Why did that boy look like me? Do I know him? Who is he to me?
Suddenly, it surfaced—unbidden. A memory, sharp and cold... A little boy's voice, sweet and distant, echoing from somewhere long forgotten:
"Run, Nine."