The rain began as a light drizzle, dampening the edges of the bustling city streets. Lucy hurried down the sidewalk, clutching a bright red umbrella she’d picked up from a store earlier that day She had almost left it behind, thinking the color was too bold, but something about the intricate gold stitching on the edges had drawn her in. Now, she was thankful for her choice, as the drizzle turned into a relentless downpour.

Her phone buzzed with a text asking where she was. **7:12 p.m.** Shit. She was running late.

It was her first date with Nathan, a guy she’d met on a dating app. He seemed nice—friendly, funny, and just charming enough to ease her nerves about meeting a stranger in person. They’d chosen a cozy Italian restaurant downtown, and she’d been looking forward to it all week.

But now, her excitement was dampened—literally—by the rain. Her jeans clung to her legs, and her hair was already frizzing despite her umbrella’s best efforts.

Lucy ducked under an awning to check the directions on her phone and fired off a quick reply.

_Running late. Be there soon!_

As she stepped back into the downpour, the phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Nathan.

**Unknown Number**.

She hesitated but answered anyway.

“Hello?”

A raspy voice spoke. “You don’t know me, but I need your help. Someone’s life depends on it.”

“Who is this?” Lucy demanded, her pace slowing.

“No time to explain. Go to the corner of 5th and Main. There’s a man in a gray coat. Give him the umbrella.”

“What? Are you insane?”

The line went dead.

Lucy stopped in her tracks, heart racing. Was it a prank? But something about the urgency in the voice unsettled her. She glanced around the crowded streets. People bustled past, heads down, hoods up, umbrellas bobbing like flowers in the storm.

She could just ignore it. Go meet Nathan.

But she didn’t. The address was around the corner from the restaurant anyways.

At 5th and Main, Lucy spotted him immediately: a man in a gray coat, standing under a streetlamp. His hands were jammed into his pockets, his head low, as if he were trying to disappear into the background.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy approached him.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you waiting for this?” She held out the red umbrella.

The man’s eyes darted to hers, then to the umbrella. For a moment, he didn’t move, and Lucy wondered if she’d made a mistake. Then, his hand shot out and snatched it from her.

“Thank you,” he muttered, before disappearing into the crowd.

Lucy stood there, drenched, regretting everything. The man had vanished so quickly it was almost as if he’d never been there at all. The umbrella—her umbrella—was gone, leaving her exposed to the elements and the gnawing sense that she had just made a mistake.

What had she been thinking? A random phone call, a cryptic demand, and she’d obeyed like a fool. Her mind raced. Who even _was_ that man? What was so important about the umbrella? The question burrowed into her thoughts, sharp and persistent.

A chill ran through her as the rain soaked through her jacket. She glanced up and down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray coat or the bright red umbrella. Nothing. Just the usual crowd of hurried pedestrians, cars spraying water as they sped by, and the suffocating hum of the city.

Lucy sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. She turned to leave when she noticed something—a crumpled piece of paper lying where the man had been standing.

Frowning, she bent down and picked it up. The ink had smeared in the rain, but she could still make out a few shaky words:

**8:00 p.m. Hotel Briarwood. Room 614.**

Her stomach twisted. It was already after 7:30.

“Not my problem,” she muttered, stuffing the paper into her pocket. But as she walked away, unease clung to her like the wet fabric of her clothes.

By the time she made it to the restaurant, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, though her mood remained heavy. Nathan was already seated at a small table by the window, checking his phone. When he spotted her, he stood and smiled warmly.

“Lucy?” he said, pulling out her chair. “You made it. You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile, sitting down. “It’s been… a weird evening.”

He waved it off with a chuckle. “No worries. Crazy weather, huh?”

She nodded, but as he launched into small talk about the rain and how long it had taken him to find parking, Lucy found herself zoning out. The man in the gray coat kept replaying in her mind: the way he snatched the umbrella, the look in his eyes—anxious, almost desperate.

“Lucy?” Nathan’s voice pulled her back.

“Sorry!” she said, flushing with embarrassment. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you’re a red wine or white wine person,” he teased, smiling kindly.

She forced a laugh, trying to focus. Nathan was nice—understanding, even—but as the evening dragged on, it became clear that the date was ordinary. Nothing to brag about. He told stories about his job, made a few decent jokes, and asked polite questions about her work and hobbies.

Still, Lucy couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just stepped into something bigger than herself. Her fingers kept brushing the edge of her pocket, where the crumpled piece of paper sat like a weight. _8:00 p.m. Hotel Briarwood. Room 614._

She glanced at her phone. 8:07 p.m.

Nathan noticed her distraction and tilted his head. “Everything okay? You seem a little out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly. “Just… it’s been one of those days.”

By the time he paid the bill, the rain had stopped completely. Nathan walked her toward the corner where she’d catch a taxi home, still chatting about weekend plans, but Lucy barely heard him.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said, interrupting him gently as they reached the curb.

“Of course,” he said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah,” she lied, forcing a smile. “I’ll text you.”

Nathan smiled, but Lucy was already turning away, staring down the dimly lit street. Her thoughts weren’t on him anymore. They were back at 5th and Main, on the man in the gray coat and the strange call that had started it all.

What had she _really_ given away tonight?

And what would happen next?

———

That night, the 11 o’clock news was filled with reports of an attempted kidnapping at a luxury hotel downtown. A man had been arrested in the lobby, armed with a gun and fake credentials, trying to gain access to a visiting diplomat’s suite.

Lucy froze. The image on the screen was unmistakable: her red umbrella, spread wide on the marble floor of the Briarwood Hotel lobby, its gold-stitched edges gleaming under the harsh light of a camera flash. Police officers crowded the scene, one of them holding the hollowed-out handle that had concealed the weapon.

Her stomach churned. That umbrella was hers. It had been hers just hours ago, and now it was evidence in a foiled attack on a diplomat.

“What the hell…” she whispered, sinking onto her couch.

The news anchor’s voice was steady but tense, describing how an anonymous tip had led security to intercept the suspect. “Authorities are investigating whether the man acted alone. Reports suggest the suspect gained access to the building by blending in with guests and using the hollow umbrella to smuggle in a firearm.”

Lucy’s blood ran cold. The man in the gray coat.

The next morning, Lucy woke to the sound of heavy knocking on her apartment door. She crept to the peephole and saw two men in black suits standing in the hallway.

“Ms. Daniels?” one of them called. “We’d like to speak with you.”

Lucy’s breath hitched. The men didn’t look like your average detectives—they looked like something out of a spy thriller. Suits too sharp, expressions too unreadable. She debated pretending she wasn’t home, but the knock came again, louder this time.

“Ms. Daniels, we know you’re in there,” the taller man said.

Heart racing, Lucy opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

The shorter man held up a badge. “Detectives Marshall and Greene, special investigations. May we come in?”

Her mind spun. _Special investigations? What does that even mean?_ She forced herself to nod and stepped aside, pulling the door wider. “Uh, sure. Please come in.”

The detectives entered, their eyes scanning the apartment with the precision of people trained to notice every detail. Lucy fidgeted, suddenly hyper-aware of her unwashed dishes and the clutter on her coffee table.

“Sorry for the mess,” she muttered.

“This won’t take long,” Marshall said, his tone clipped.

“May I take your coats?” she asked, gesturing to the coat rack by the door.

They hesitated for a beat before shrugging off their jackets and handing them over. Lucy turned to hang them up, but as she did, the motion jostled her own coat. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

She froze.

The crumpled paper with the address and hotel room number lay face up, the smeared ink glaring like a beacon.

“What’s that?” Greene asked, his voice sharper now.

Lucy bent to grab it, but Marshall was faster. He plucked the paper from the floor and scanned it, his jaw tightening.

“Hotel Briarwood,” he said, exchanging a look with Greene. “Room 614.”

Lucy’s mouth went dry. “I… I found it. On the street.”

“Did you?” Greene said, his gaze narrowing.

“Yes! I swear,” Lucy insisted, her voice rising. “I don’t know anything about this. I just… someone called me. They told me to give my umbrella to some guy on the corner. That’s all.”

Marshall folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Why didn’t you report this?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Lucy admitted. “I thought it was just some weird prank. I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off as the memory of the news broadcast flashed in her mind.

Greene stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Ms. Daniels, the man you handed that umbrella to was caught attempting to kidnap a high-profile diplomat. The weapon hidden in that umbrella could have changed everything.”

Lucy staggered back a step, her knees suddenly weak. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know anything about a weapon or kidnapping or—”

Marshall raised a hand, cutting her off. “We believe you didn’t know. But you’re involved now, whether you like it or not.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It means whoever orchestrated this is still out there,” Greene said grimly. “And now they know your face. Your name.”

Lucy’s stomach sank. “You’re saying I’m in danger?”

Marshall’s eyes were hard. “We’re saying you need to be very careful. Until we figure out who’s behind this, you’ll be safer under our watch.”

Lucy swallowed hard, the weight of their words pressing down on her. She thought back to the man in the gray coat, to the desperation in his eyes, to the cryptic phone call that had started it all.

Her ordinary life had just become anything but.

☔️ to be continued ☔️