Chapter 1: The Shattered Screen, The Spark Ignited
The rain had turned the sidewalk into a black mirror, reflecting the neon and warm amber light from the café windows. Kali dodged a puddle, her mind already three blocks ahead at the impending client dinner she was late for, when she walked directly into a wall.
A wall that smelled like cold leather and ozone.
The impact was solid, unforgiving, and sent her stumbling back, her phone flying from her hand. It hit the wet pavement with a terrible, crystalline crunch. She caught herself on a lamppost, breathless, and looked up.
And up.
The man was impossibly tall, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the glow of the café. Raindrops caught in his long silver hair, which was swept back from a face so strikingly handsome it seemed almost unreal. Rimless glasses sat on a straight nose, behind which eyes the color of glacial ice regarded her. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored coat, his hands sheathed in black leather.
“I am sorry,” he said, his voice a low, resonant baritone that vibrated in the space between them. It sounded formal, old-fashioned even. He didn’t move to help her up, just stared as if she were a curious, unexpected specimen.
“My phone,” was all Kali could manage, her gaze dropping to the shattered screen glinting like scattered stars on the dark cement. A sleek, silver-back case had split open. It was a ridiculous thing to fixate on, but it felt like a personal little disaster.
He followed her look and, with a grace that seemed at odds with his size, knelt. He picked up the largest piece, the broken device cradled in his gloved palm. When he stood and offered it to her, their fingers brushed.
A jolt, swift and electric, shot up her arm.
Kali snatched her hand back, startled. He went perfectly still. For a second, his icy composure fractured, the blue of his eyes darkening with something like shock. The hum of the city—the laughter from the café, the hiss of tires on wet asphalt—seemed to recede, swallowed by the sudden, thick silence.
“It’s… it’s fine,” she said, her own voice surprisingly steady. She took the broken piece, their eyes locked. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Nor was I.” He didn’t smile. “The fault is mutual.”
He was still holding a smaller fragment of glass. He turned it over, examining it. “This model is obsolete,” he stated, as if delivering a clinical report. “The lithium battery casing is prone to fracture upon lateral impact.”
Kali blinked. “You’re a phone technician?”
A pause. “I am… knowledgeable about structural integrity.” He finally offered her the glass shard. “Your evening is disrupted.”
“Just a bit.” She tucked the pieces into her coat pocket, the moment of charged strangeness passing into something lighter, curious. He was odd, but there was an intensity to his focus that was utterly captivating. “It’s just a thing. I’m Kali.”
“Frankenstein,” he said.
She couldn’t help the small, surprised laugh that escaped her. “Really?”
“It is my name.” He said it without inflection, but she saw a flicker in his eyes—amusement, or maybe annoyance. She couldn’t tell.
“No, I believe you. It’s just… memorable.” She glanced past him, remembering her appointment. “I should…”
At that moment, his coat pocket emitted a soft, distinct chime. He didn’t move to check it. His gaze remained fixed on her, but the focus had changed, hardened. The casual curiosity was gone, replaced by a watchful, guarded tension.
“You should go,” he said, his voice dropping. It wasn’t a suggestion.
The shift was so abrupt it left her off-balance. “Right. Well. Thanks for… helping with the casualty.”
She took a step to move around him. He moved slightly, a subtle shift of his weight that blocked her path for a fraction of a second, forcing her to meet his eyes again. Up close, she could see fine lines at the corners of those blue eyes, a weariness that belied his ageless face.
“You should be more careful, Kali Tice,” he said, her full name sounding deliberate, weighted, on his tongue.
A chill that had nothing to do with the rain traced her spine. “How did you—”
The chime from his pocket came again, more insistent this time.
He turned his head slightly, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. His jaw tightened. When he looked back at her, the intensity was shuttered, replaced by a blank, polished courtesy. “Goodbye.”
He was walking away before she could form a response, his long stride eating up the sidewalk, his figure dissolving into the mist and the shadows between the streetlights.
Kali stood there for a full minute, the broken phone heavy in her pocket, the ghost of that electric touch still humming on her skin. She felt seen, in a way she hadn’t been in years, and then abruptly dismissed. It was intriguing. It was infuriating.
Shaking her head, she turned toward her dinner, her mind already replaying the collision, the sound of breaking glass, the color of his eyes. She didn’t notice the sleek, black car that pulled away from the curb a block down, its windows tinted opaque, following the path Frankenstein had taken.
Inside the car, Frankenstein removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. On the seat beside him, a sleek tablet glowed with a single line of text.
Master: You lingered.
He typed a single word in reply, his gloved fingers precise on the screen.
Frankenstein: Observation only.
The reply was instantaneous.
Master: See that it stays that way. Return. Now.
He stared out at the rain-smeared city, but all he saw was a pair of bright green eyes, wide with surprise, and the feel of a warm, living hand against his own. For the first time in more centuries than he cared to count, the rhythm of his existence had faltered. Stuttered. And the echo of it was unnerving.
He had a name to dwell on now. Kali.
Back on the sidewalk, Kali finally hailed a cab. As she slid into the backseat, she caught her reflection in the window—a petite woman with rain-damp platinum hair and a bewildered expression. She smiled at herself, a slow, spontaneous curl of her lips. The future was always uncertain. But tonight, for a moment, something interesting had happened.
She wondered, idly, if she’d ever see the wall of a man named Frankenstein again.