CHAPTER FOUR

The man was bored.

The paintings in the gallery were so mundane, so limited: a bird, a tree, a setting sun. One particularly uninspiring piece depicted a vibrant cityscape under a starless sky.

Starless. That was the problem. The artists ignored the cosmos, neglected the celestial bodies that governed their lives. They reduced their worlds to what they could see, what they could touch.

The man hadn't come here for the art, but he had hoped to find some inspiration, some appreciation for all the worlds beyond the rock on which this species lived. Instead he had found only further evidence of humanity's ignorance.

He moved to the farthest corner of the gallery, taking in a painting titled "The Harvest." A family gathered around a bountiful table, their faces lit by the soft glow of an old-fashioned lantern. It was well-executed, he supposed, but it was utterly ordinary.

The edges of his mouth twisted into a mirthless smile as he studied the painting's details. The plump, red apples in a handwoven basket, the glistening roast in the center of the table, it was all so...pedestrian. So unaware of the grand universe swirling outside their little farmhouse.

The gallery's echoing silence was broken by the sound of heels clicking against its polished wooden floors. He didn't need to look to know who it was. He could smell her perfume before he saw her—a mixture of lilac and something darker, earthier.

Fiona Blake, he thought. Such an exquisite name: Fiona. It meant ‘white, fair'—rather bland as far as name meanings went, but the woman to whom the name belonged was anything but bland. Fiona was a vision in her emerald green dress, her dark skin standing out starkly against the pale walls of the gallery. She moved with grace, every step taken with careful elegance, her pixie-cut hair adding to her ethereal appeal. She looked every bit the artist: passionate, radiant, and blissfully unaware of the cosmic dance that orchestrated their lives.

Tracking her movements from the corner of his eye, the man felt his anger bubbling up. Her exuberance, her zest for life, even her very beauty—it all infuriated him because it was wasted on such ignorance. Could she not see the cosmic order of things? The celestial bodies that governed their lives, stirring the tides and whispering the future to those who would listen? Her art, much like her, was full of life but devoid of cosmic understanding.

Still, he could make use of her. He would elevate her, make her a part of something larger than herself.

Whether she wanted to be or not.

Still watching Fiona from the corner of his eye, the man didn't notice the businessman strolling toward him, eyes fixed to his smartphone, until it was too late. The two of them collided, causing the businessman's phone to slip from his hand and clatter onto the polished wooden floor. The other man managed to keep his footing, only mildly unbalanced by the impact.

"Watch it!" the businessman snapped, bending down to retrieve his phone without giving the other man more than a passing glare.

The man was about to mumble an apology, but then he caught Fiona staring at him. Did she recognize him? He had styled his hair differently, dressed differently, even put on a large pair of glasses. But if she managed to recognize him—

Without thinking, he turned abruptly and hurried away, shoving open the exit door and trotting down the steps of the building. His heart was hammering in his chest. If she had recognized him, she could ruin everything.

It's your own damn fault for getting too close, he told himself as he rounded the corner, briskly moving away from the gallery. You should have stayed in the shadows.

Still…this didn't have to upset his plans. It would just accelerate them. He had planned to take his time, wait for the perfect timing, but now that was no longer an option. As soon as her event was over, he would make his move.

See you again soon, Fiona, he thought. I hope you like my face because it's the last one you'll ever see.