The tenth floor was dim, the hallway lights buzzing faintly.

Sirfa stepped out of the elevator, bag slung over her shoulder, keys already in her hand. The air smelled like concrete and something bitter.

Smoke.

Riven stood near the railing at the far end of the floor, one elbow resting against it, cigarette between his fingers. The city lights flickered below him. He wasn’t supposed to be there—no one ever smoked this high up—but rules had never mattered to him.

Sirfa slowed for half a second.

Then kept walking.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just aimed straight for her apartment door like he wasn’t there at all.

As she passed—

Riven shifted.

Not much. Just his foot sliding out at the wrong moment.

Her shoe caught.

The world tilted.

Sirfa stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, hand slamming against the wall as she barely caught herself from going down hard. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and hit the floor.

For a second, there was only the sound of her breathing.

Then she turned.

Her glare was sharp, furious, eyes dark behind her glasses.

Riven looked down at her from where he leaned, cigarette still at his lips. Smoke curled as he exhaled slowly.

A lazy smile tugged at his mouth.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “Wouldn’t want you falling.”

Sirfa straightened, jaw tight, fingers curling into fists.

“Do that again,” she said, voice low, “and I won’t stop.”

Riven’s smile widened just a little.

He flicked ash over the railing, eyes never leaving her.

“That a promise?”

She snatched her bag up, shouldering past him without another word, unlocking her door with hands that shook from anger, not fear.

Behind her, Riven laughed quietly to himself— soft, amused, and completely unbothered.

The door slammed shut.

And the hallway went quiet again.