The morning bustle gradually shifted into the busyness of the day as the Grand Central Station concourse filled with a steady stream of people.


    Eli weaved through the crowd, arriving at the agreed meeting spot, a column near the announcement board.


    At 9:58, a new message popped up on his phone:


    Client: Traffic’s a bit heavy, might not get there until 10:30. Sorry!


    Eli stared at the screen for a few seconds, his lips pressing into a slight frown, before slipping the phone back into his pocket.


    He wasn’t someone easily irritated, but today’s client clearly had a loose grasp of punctuality.


    It left him mildly annoyed, though it also afforded him some unexpected downtime.


    Leaning against the column, his gaze wandered idly across the bustling crowd.


    What began as a way to pass the time soon turned into something more focused as certain details on a few individuals began to catch his attention.


    Not far away, a man in a dark jacket stood by another column.


    Dressed in an ordinary dark jacket with a crossbody bag slung diagonally across his chest, he blended seamlessly with the surrounding commuters.


    But his posture was unusual: feet firmly planted on the ground, back straight, hands tucked into his pockets, exuding a calmness that felt almost too deliberate.


    His gaze moved swiftly through the crowd, scanning at an even pace, as if he were intentionally searching for a target.


    The zipper on his crossbody bag bulged slightly, hinting at a rigid object within.


    Occasionally, he adjusted the bag’s position, his movements smooth yet betraying an excessive air of habitual caution.


    As Eli observed the man, an inexplicable feeling crept over him.


    "He’s looking for a target."


    The moment Eli made that judgment, a vivid image burst into his mind, its details growing sharper and clearer:


    This man was an undercover cop, assigned to track down a drug lord.


    His target had already entered the station, and he was now confirming their position.


    His crossbody bag contained a lightweight weapon and essential disguise tools, ready for any eventuality.


    The image surged into Eli’s mind like a tide, each detail disturbingly vivid.


    He could even “see” the items inside the man’s bag: a small telescope, a communication device, and a document folder.


    Inside that folder was a brief profile of the target, along with a blurry photo—just a faint, indistinct face.


    Eli shook his head instinctively, muttering under his breath, "Strange…"


    He trying to dismiss the scene in his mind as mere speculation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the details were real.


    Eli tried to shift his attention away from the man in the jacket but found his gaze unconsciously drawn to a middle-aged man dragging a suitcase.


    The man was dressed in plain casual clothes, but his movements carried a hint of hesitation.


    The man in the jacket noticed the middle-aged man with the suitcase but didn’t linger, as if it was just a passing glance.


    There was a subtle rhythm to his actions, as though he was confirming a target while trying to avoid drawing attention.


    “He’s identified the target but is still observing.”


    Once again, a vivid and inexplicable image surfaced in Eli’s mind:


    A voice was coming through the man in the jacket’s earpiece: Follow him, but don’t alert him. Wait until he boards the train to take action.


    The specificity of these thoughts made Eli’s heartbeat quicken.


    Lowering his gaze, Eli couldn’t help but rub his temples, trying to calm his racing heart.


    Even though Eli tried to convince himself he was just overthinking, he keenly caught sight of the man in the jacket silently tailing the target, his steps exuding a deliberate secrecy.


    Eli decided not to dwell on it further. His gaze swept across the concourse, searching for something to distract his attention.


    At that moment, Eli noticed a young man sitting on a bench in the waiting area.


    The man’s attire was completely ordinary: a gray hoodie, jeans, and a pair of plain sneakers.


    He wore wireless earbuds, his head lowered as he stared at his phone, his fingers continuously scrolling as if browsing through messages.


    Everything seemed normal—until Eli’s gaze fell on the suitcase at the young man’s feet.


    It was a high-end luxury brand suitcase, exorbitantly expensive, standing in stark contrast to his casual, simple outfit.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Eli couldn’t help but scrutinize the young man more closely, and once again, his intuition surged like a flood, bringing forth another vivid image:


    The young man was a wealthy heir, traveling to handle a family matter. The suitcase contained important contract documents and some extremely valuable jewelry—items that held little personal meaning for him but were of immense importance to his family.


    The young man glanced down at his phone, his expression tinged with impatience and hesitation.


    Eli sensed faintly that he was heading to Washington under his family’s orders to take care of a business deal he wasn’t particularly invested in.


    Despite the intensity of these impressions, Eli tried to dismiss them with logic.


    “This is just a random guess, an illusion born from observation. It can’t possibly be real,” he muttered to himself.


    His gaze followed the young man’s departing figure, and that oppressive feeling surged in his chest once more.


    It didn’t come from the outside but from within, like an invisible hand lightly gripping his throat, making it hard to breathe.


    “Find a cop!”


    The thought burst into his mind, abrupt and undeniable, compelling Eli to instinctively start scanning for someone.


    Not far away, a man leaned against a column in the waiting hall, his head lowered as he stared at his phone screen.


    The man had an average build, wore a plain brown jacket, and had an unremarkable appearance.


    Yet in an instant, Eli picked up on a series of subtle, telling details:


    While using his phone, the man’s peripheral vision was constantly scanning his surroundings—discreet yet systematic.


    It wasn’t the aimless glance of an ordinary traveler but a deliberate, purposeful observation, as if he were looking for specific signals.


    Every few seconds, his hand would unconsciously brush the inside of his jacket—a faint, quick motion, as if checking on something important hidden there.


    Eli was certain—he was a cop!


    Almost instantly, a complete image formed in Eli’s mind.


    The details were so specific it bordered on the absurd, even making Eli question if he somehow knew this man.


    He was about 178 centimeters tall, weighing close to 77 kilograms, with movements that were light and controlled.


    The strength he exuded wasn’t the flashy kind built in a gym but a practical, functional power.


    He had undoubtedly undergone specialized training in combat and unarmed takedown techniques, with exceptional coordination and explosive power.


    Eli could even “see” a vivid scene of him chasing down a suspect:


    The man moved seamlessly, vaulting over obstacles and subduing his target with steady precision—his actions as flawlessly executed as if straight out of a textbook.


    Eli’s mind went further, “seeing” the man’s phone screen flash a few lines of text: “Target confirmed. Maintain discretion. Await further instructions.”


    In that instant, Eli understood: this was a plainclothes officer, working alongside the undercover cop from earlier on the same mission.


    Alan Kyle.


    New York Police Department, Anti-Crime Special Task Unit.


    Undercover mission: track, surveil, and await the opportune moment to act.


    Eli had no idea where this information came from, but it flashed into his mind like a blinding light, forcibly etched into his thoughts.


    A wave of unfamiliar yet intense emotions surged within him—as though he could glimpse the story behind this man.


    Alan had risked exposure infiltrating enemy strongholds, clashed with suspects in dimly lit alleyways, and pursued high-profile criminals at breakneck speed through crowded subway stations.


    He was the perfect operative: precise and decisive in his actions, yet not devoid of compassion.


    He understood the compromises and sacrifices inherent in his missions, but in crucial moments, he would never turn a blind eye to the innocent.


    Eli’s gaze lingered on the man’s hand. Though he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, another vivid image flashed through Eli’s mind—


    A silent apartment, with a half-finished coffee cup sitting alone on the coffee table.


    Spread across the table was a sheet of paper: a divorce agreement.


    In the bottom-right corner of the document, two signatures stood starkly against the page, while in the top-left corner, the date read: June 15, 2023.


    The image flickered away, accompanied by faint, indistinct fragments of a conversation:


    "I''m sorry... this marriage wasn''t fair to you."


    The voice was low, tinged with helplessness and regret.


    Eli’s brow furrowed deeply, his hand tightening into a subtle fist.


    He had never seen this man before and couldn’t possibly know these details, yet the clarity of the vision filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread.


    Eli’s gaze didn’t linger on the man for long but quickly shifted to his surroundings.


    His observational skills had become unnaturally sharp, with even the most inconspicuous details surfacing vividly in his mind:


    At the far end of the waiting hall, a luggage cart stood abandoned by the wall near the ticket machine;


    beneath the vending machine, a loose screw left the metal panel slightly tilted;


    and not far away, a coffee stand displayed a gleaming tube of metal cutlery.


    Eli realized that these seemingly mundane objects might prove useful.


    The plainclothes officer was still looking at his phone, though his peripheral vision casually swept in Eli’s direction.


    Every movement, every subtle glance from the man hinted at his heightened sense of awareness.


    Eli could clearly feel the weight of his gaze but pretended not to notice, casually walking toward the nearby vending machine.


    Standing in front of the machine, he slid his finger back and forth across the touchscreen, as though hesitating on what to choose.


    His posture was relaxed, his movements soft, appearing no different from any other passenger in the hall.


    Even the smallest shifts in his expression were perfectly controlled, precise to a degree that revealed nothing unusual.


    “What’s happening to me…”


    Eli couldn’t begin to understand what was going on with him.


    This level of precision in reading details, this ability to conceal himself with professional-level subtlety—he had never trained for any of it.


    He had never learned these skills, yet they came so naturally, as if they were instincts etched into his very being.


    Eli had thought about stepping forward to warn the man:


    "Something dangerous is coming. I don’t know why, but we need to leave here immediately."


    However, the next second, that impulse was forcibly suppressed by his intuition.


    “It’s not time yet.”


    “If you act rashly now, he’ll suspect you.”


    “He’ll think you know something, and that will only create problems for you.”


    In an instant, Eli understood that revealing his secrets could cause unnecessary trouble, even making the man turn his suspicion against him.


    He clenched his jaw tightly, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the vending machine, trying to mask his inner tension with subtle physical movements.


    The vending machine’s screen displayed a bottle of lemon soda. Eli casually tapped the selection, pulled out some change, and dropped it into the coin slot.


    With a soft “click,” the machine dispensed the bottle. He retrieved it from the compartment, twisted the cap open, and took a sip. The entire process was smooth and natural, revealing no hint of his unease.


    “Time…”


    He glanced down at his phone, which displayed: 10:16.


    “The time in my dream… it was 9 o’clock,” the thought surfaced involuntarily.


    But the clock in the dream hadn’t told him whether it was morning or evening, or even if it was today or tomorrow.


    Eli couldn’t help but look up and survey his surroundings. The soothing sound of train announcements played over the loudspeakers. The shuffle of footsteps mixed with the hum of a coffee stand’s steam machine, and the warm scent of bread lingered in the air.


    Eli’s gaze fell once more on the plainclothes officer. He was still staring at his phone, his movements so natural that they betrayed nothing out of the ordinary.


    “Why am I the only one feeling this?” Eli thought, tightening his grip on the bottle in his hand. The plastic emitted a faint “crack” as his grip hardened.


    Everything on the surface seemed so ordinary, yet this calm atmosphere only made him feel even more suffocated.


    His eyes flicked toward the central electronic schedule board in the hall. The numbers on the display silently changed, ticking over to: 10:17.


    Eli’s intuition screamed in his mind, louder than ever:


    “It’s coming!”