The rain softened, turning into a mist that clung to the edges of his jacket. He glanced sideways again, stealing another look at her. She hadn't moved much, still leaning against the railing a few feet away. It was strange how her presence filled the space, even though she barely seemed to take any of it. She felt like an echo, both here and somewhere far away.

"You've been here before," she said, her voice cutting through the damp quiet. It wasn't a question.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Maybe."

Her lips curved slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "You're not good at lying."

He smirked bitterly at that, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to be."

They stood in silence for a moment longer, the river below their only witness. The mist gathered in his hair, cool and persistent, and he brushed it away absently.

"You're like this place," she said suddenly, her voice low but deliberate.

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She turned slightly, meeting his gaze for the first time. Her eyes were steady, clear in a way that unnerved him. "Quiet on the surface, but always moving underneath."

He let the words sit between them. Part of him wanted to dismiss them, shrug her off like he had everything else, but the other part—the part that had brought him here tonight—couldn't.

"You've got a lot of opinions for someone who doesn't even know me," he muttered.

She leaned against the railing, her fingers brushing the cold metal. "Maybe," she said. "But maybe I know enough."

He tilted his head, studying her. She didn't flinch under his scrutiny, her gaze unwavering. There was something about her—a quiet defiance, an unshakable presence—that made him feel unmoored.

"What's your angle?" he asked finally.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Who says I have one?"

"Everyone has an angle," he said, his voice heavy with skepticism.

"Not everyone," she countered softly, turning her attention back to the river.

The rain picked up again, harder this time, but neither of them moved. She seemed immune to the cold, her posture calm and unbothered. He shoved his hands into his pockets, the chill finally sinking into his skin.

"I don't know why you're here," he said after a long silence, his voice low. "But you don't have to stay."

"I know," she replied simply.

He waited for her to say more, but she didn't. Her restraint irritated him, even as it intrigued him. He wanted to press, to pry, but something about her presence kept him from doing so.

"You remind me of someone," she said eventually, breaking the quiet.

"Yeah? Who?"

Her lips pressed together, the faintest hint of hesitation flickering across her face. "Someone I used to know."

He caught the way her hand tightened on the railing, just for a moment, before she relaxed again.

"Must've been someone who liked standing in the rain," he said, his tone edged with sarcasm.

She huffed a quiet laugh, the sound light but fleeting. "Not exactly. But he had a way of getting lost in places like this."

Her words settled into his chest like a weight, familiar and foreign all at once. He wanted to ask what she meant, but the look in her eyes stopped him. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the city, its lights flickering like distant stars.

"Call me Wren," she said suddenly.

He blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"If we're going to keep running into each other, you should call me something. Wren will do."

He studied her, suspicion flickering across his face. "That's your real name?"

She smiled faintly, a shadow of something he couldn't quite name. "Does it matter?"

He shook his head, letting out a dry laugh. "Guess not."

"And you?" she asked, her tone casual but not prying.

He hesitated, the weight of his own name feeling heavier than it should. "I don't know," he said finally. "Make something up."

Her smile widened slightly, though it still didn't reach her eyes. "Alright...how about Sol?"

"Sol?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "Short for something. Or maybe not. Up to you."

He considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Sol works."

Wren straightened, stepping back from the railing. For a second, he thought she might leave, but she didn't. Instead, she slipped her hands into her jacket pockets and glanced at him.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, her voice casual.

"Why?"

Her expression softened, just enough for him to notice. "Because you're not done yet, either."

He didn't answer right away, her words pulling at something he didn't want to acknowledge. But as she turned to walk away, her figure disappearing into the mist, he found himself nodding.

"Same time," he said quietly, though she was already gone.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the faintest stirrings of something he couldn't name. It wasn't hope—not yet. But it was enough to make him stay a little longer.