CHAPTER TWO — The Man Who Shouldn’t Exist
Mara turned the feather over in her fingers until the sun dipped behind the buildings and the streetlights flickered on like tired stars trying to remember how to shine. They didn’t check them apparently — the bulbs needed changing and no city worker could be found or find the time. It didn’t feel like a bird feather. Bird feathers were light. Hollow middle of it's spine Dead.
An emptiness inside them.This one was warm. Like it remembered something. Like it had a pulse. Like it had been part of something alive that wasn’t supposed to exist in this city, on this street, in her hands — or in this world. She tucked it into the pocket of her Hunter green Starbucks hoodie, pressing her palm over it as if it might float away if she didn’t anchor it to something real. Something human. Something her. He didn’t come back that night.
Waiting turned into night with no sign.Or the next day. By the third day, she had decided she hallucinated him. Yeah thats what happened she kept telling herself. A kinky kindness mirage. A trench‑coated wet fever dream— and Mara had been starving for a miracle for a very long time. But the feather was still there.
Warm.
Real. And every time she touched it, something tightened in her chest cavity, like a squeezing being pulled from somewhere she couldn’t see to fix. Her heartstrings were being tugged by something she didn’t understand. She started looking for him again. Not in a dramatic movie‑montage way — no running through crowds or spinning in slow motion. No Crocodile Dundee love‑scene'. (only the best one ever)Just non chalantly glancing around just noticing. Watching reflections in windows. Checking bus stops. Scanning the faces of tall men in long coats even the ones that looked nothing like his. She secretly anticipating justbthe chance to touch him. There were more trench coats in this city than she’d ever realized,good to know good to know she thought to herself. Or maybe she’d just never cared enough or had a reason to look. Nothing. Until the fourth night. She had tried absolutely everything she could muster to not think about him — humming show tunes songs, counting sidewalk cracks- there were thousands, also she had mentally ranked every flavor of Pop‑Tart she had ever stolen — but her hand kept drifting to that feather, hovering over it like it was a button she was forbidden to press. There was intense magnetic pull on the bottom side of her hands. Magnetic. Anytime uneasiness crept in, her fingers found it for comfort. She was sitting on her corner again, new cardboard sign in her lap, when a familiar shadow blocked the neon glow of the closed pawn shop sign. “You returned,” Sorenson said. Her heart jumped like someone plugged her finger into a wall socket.“You’re late,” she said, trying to sound annoyed instead of relieved while simultaneously holding tears back“Most people call that ghosting she shouted his way.”He sat beside her again, as if no time had passed. Same coat. Same boots. Same impossible eyes that looked like they’d watched galaxies collapse and didn’t find it particularly surprising.“I do not experience time the way you do,” he said. “Good for you,” she muttered. “Most people call that being rude.”He studied her like she was the rude one, which was weirdly comforting. Her people‑person skills were nonexistent or in witness protection at this point anyway. She pulled the feather from her pocket and held it up between them.“You dropped this.”
Mara had a niche for dramatics but missed her acting call. He stared at it. For the first time, she saw something crack in his calm — not fear exactly, but something close. Hard to tell rather it was Recognition or maybe dread.“That is not possible,” he said quietly.“Yeah, well, here we are. Quit intercepting my thoughts Sorenson.”He reached for it, then stopped, fingers hovering like touching it might confirm something he wasn’t ready to admit — or let her know.“You thought I was an angel,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.“I thought you were weird,” she said breathing heavily “Still do. She said while leaning towards him for something. A kiss perhaps He looked relieved, which was concerning.“So what are you?” she asked. He looked from left then slowly right, up, then down, All around the street — at the people passing, the cars, the city that ignored her — then leaned closer, voice dropping into something low and dangerous.“Not human.”She blinked and licked her lips that suddenly were bone dry. “Okay. ”He frowned. “You are not reacting appropriately.” “What, should I scream? Throw holy water? Call the news?” Sorenson or Go Full Blown Karen? “You do not believe me.”“Oh, I believe you,” she said. “I’ve met humans scarier than aliens.”That seemed to confuse him.“Show me,” she said.“Show you what?”“Whatever’s under that coat.”“Show me the human weirder than aliens,” she added. “Then show me the aliens.”He stiffened. “That would be… unwise.”“Then I’m gonna assume you’re just a extreme committed cosplayer.”He hesitated. Then slowly, carefully, he unbuttoned the trench coat button by button. Slowly like he had been a male stripper in a previous life. Mara sucked in a breath shakily releasing it slowly, breathing heightens and becomes going faster, deeper, even deeper breaths. They weren’t wings — not exactly. But they weren’t not wings either.Something between biology and machinery — sleek, layered structures folded against his back like articulated feathers made of bone and metal and light. They moved when he breathed. They shimmered faintly, reacting to the city air like it physically hurt them.She reached out without thinking. He flinched — then let her touch one. It felt warm almost.
Alive she whispered. “You’re not an angel.”“No,” he said. “Angels are a human myth based on early encounters with my species.”She laughed, iwith an obvious fake one., shaking her head in disbelief. “Figures.”He closed the coat, hiding the impossible again.“Where are you from?” she asked.“Another planet. Another time. Both.”She stared at him. “Pick one.”“My people exist across eras. We do not travel through time. We step outside of it.”“You mean like… right now?”“No.”“That’s worse.”He smiled faintly — a small, strange, devastating thing of a smile.“Why are you here?” she asked.He looked at her like the answer was obvious. "What she snapped at him. What she said dramatically. Its me are serious im the reason? her.“You should not exist,” he said again.“Rude.”“In the records of human history, every life leaves a trace. You do not. You have no trace.”She didn’t know whether to feel offended or important.“So why me?” she asked.He looked at the city, the street, her cardboard sign.“Because anomalies change everything,” he said. “And because… I wanted to meet you.”Her chest tightened.“Don’t say that like it’s a research project,” she said.“It is not,” he said softly. “It is dangerous. Extremely dangerous.”She studied him. “Dangerous how?”“Because if I stay, timelines diverge. If I leave, I lose you.”She swallowed. “Then stay.”He met her eyes.“I already did.”Something in her cracked open — something she didn’t know she’d been holding shut.Something warm.
Something terrifying.
Something alive.