Algorithm of chance

Chapter 2

Eva woke up in a dim room.
The faint glow from a streetlamp—forgotten on a nearby balcony—filtered through translucent curtains, painting wavering patterns on the ceiling and walls. They shifted as if time itself hadn't yet decided whether to move forward or remain suspended in that fragile space between night and morning.

The room was steeped in familiar scents: book dust, a hint of mildew, the lingering aroma of tea leaves from the night before. Everything was just as it always was: the old wooden floor creaked under her bare feet, the windows shivered from the wind, and in the corner, a sleepy ficus dozed—still alive after three moves.

Eva sat up and ran a hand over her face. Her mornings always began the same way. She didn’t like surprises, though she’d never admit it aloud.

A quick shower.
A cup of strong black tea—no sugar, but with lemon.
And silence. That rare, profound kind of silence in which one can hear not just the sounds of the street, but their own thoughts.

She turned on the kettle, took out the mug where she kept her favorite bergamot teabag, and while the water heated, looked out the window. The world was just waking up. People hurried, cars created the rhythm of the street—but none of it concerned her.

Eva loved solitude. Not because she was shy, but because in solitude she felt control. People too often barged into her space—with noise, with expectations, with questions. And she just wanted to observe. To watch. To live alongside events, not inside them.

She worked as an interior designer. Created comfort where there was none. Arranged details, chose textures, hunted light. It felt like therapy—for her and for her clients. But behind all that beauty hid boundaries: budgets, deadlines, client demands, cancellations, edits.

Sometimes it seemed her own life followed similar boundaries—only more subtle ones.

At 3:14 p.m., as always, she stepped onto the balcony.
A light breeze brushed her face. She stopped at the railing, leaned forward slightly, and looked up. The sky was milky, shapeless. Clouds hung above the buildings like forgotten pillows no one cared to tidy away.

No one knew about this ritual. No one noticed. Not even Lena.

"You're on the balcony again," came a voice behind her.
Eva flinched—not from fear, but because her silence had been broken.

"You're like a ghost," Lena continued, handing her a cup. "Always alone, always in the same place."

"Just watching the sky," Eva said quietly, accepting the cup.

"Seriously? Just… the sky?"

"It changes. But only if you watch long enough."

Lena snorted and stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder. They stood in silence.

"You're like a character from some arthouse film. Waiting for meaning, only to find out the director died after the third take."

Eva couldn’t help it—she laughed. Really laughed.
"Oh god, Lena… you're impossible."

"Exactly. I’m always the same—and you’re still you. Anyway, I came to rescue you from sugarless tea and loneliness. Also, I’ve got a guy for you."

"Lena..."

"Don’t give me that look! He’s got teeth, no cow figurine collection, and he can write without typos. Practically a prince."

Eva smiled again, but her gaze turned distant.

Lena noticed right away.
"Hey, are you okay? Seriously. No lying."

"I..." Eva looked up at the sky. "I feel like I'm standing between two things. Like I'm at a door, and I can't tell if I’m supposed to walk in—or leave."

"That’s what people like me are for," Lena said. "To grab your hand and pull you out of those doorway traps."

Eva nodded. She didn’t even notice her fingers were trembling slightly.

3:14 p.m. — Sector B-24, Bureau of Coincidences

The panels mimicked daylight—but always with a flaw. The light fell at the wrong angle. The clouds didn’t move.

Alex sat at his usual station: sixth seat from center, row G. Before him, the “Drop Matrix” interface flickered. He didn’t see faces or names. Just events: someone dropped a key, someone was delayed by a minute, someone slipped on wet tile—but didn’t fall.

Today, he saw her again.
3:14. The balcony.

A woman steps out and stands.
Does nothing. No phone. No drink. No words. Just stands.

"You’re watching too much," said Lio, chewing a gray rectangular bar. "This isn’t arthouse—it’s a conveyor belt."

"I’m not watching. I’m analyzing," Alex replied, eyes still locked on the screen.

"You’ve been hovering over her for three days. If I were a supervisor, you’d already have an emotional involvement flag."

"She… doesn’t fit the model. She does nothing. Same time. Just stands there."

"Maybe she’s got a radioactive cockroach in her apartment and the balcony is her bunker. Thought about that, Sherlock?"

Alex smiled faintly.
"You don’t take people seriously."

"And you’re a romantic. That’s why they didn’t let you into Sector Four. No room for dreamers there."

Alex watched her leave the balcony at 3:17.
Just like always.
But this time… his fingers twitched.

Input:
Coincidence: Wind gust
Location: 6th floor, balcony
Effect: Blows item off table

3:17 p.m. — Eva’s Balcony

The wind came suddenly. As if something had decided to breathe.

A sketch—drawn in the subway—lifted off the table and vanished over the railing.

"Damn," Eva whispered, taking a step forward—but it was already too late.

"What happened?" Lena called from inside.

"My Sketch ."

"Ah, screw it. Come on, let’s look for it. Maybe it didn’t fly far."

Eva nodded but stayed where she was.
It had happened… at the exact moment she was about to leave.
As if someone knew.

3:18 p.m. — Sector B-24

"You just initiated an event. Without clearance," Lio said, suddenly sitting upright.

Alex said nothing.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"A gust of wind is minor intervention. Within tolerable limits."

"We don’t create. We record. You chose. That’s not a coincidence anymore."

Alex remained seated.
For the first time in a long while, he felt… alive.
As if he’d escaped the bounds of the simulation.

4:01 p.m. — Level 6, Department of Anomaly Control

A yellow alert flared on the screen:

> Violation: Unauthorized interference, Level 5
Operator: Alex Ford
Sector: B-24

"Someone’s starting to play with chaos," said a voice from the shadows.

"Shall we monitor?"

"Not yet. Let’s see what he does… if he likes it."

To be continued...