Deep breaths. It was one email; Isaac could read one email. It would either be all his dreams coming true, or proof he was a failure of a human being.

Well, maybe nothing that dramatic. But it would be disappointing. He should really wait to read it until after work, but now that he knew it was sitting in his inbox, he'd never be able to focus.

“You can do it," he whispered to himself. He clutched the phone in front of his face, praying for good news. “Stop thinking, and go!" He powered on the screen and clicked on the waiting email, holding his breath.

“To whom it may concern,

Thank you for your query. While your novel sounds exciting, I don't think it's a good fit at this time.

Best of luck,

Don Mallozz

Gryphon Literary Agency"

Isaac sank into his couch cushions. Rejection wasn't a surprise, this had been the twentieth agency he'd sent his manuscript to. Still, he couldn't help hoping every time that the next agency would be different, that the next agent would love his story and guide him straight to the New York Times bestseller list. That he'd be that one in a million author everyone knew, that everyone would know his book and love it.

His gaze landed on the magazine on his coffee table, a copy of “Pop News". The cover featured supermodel Sean Winters posed with a book in a café window, with some text about an exclusive interview with the model about what he does in his free time.

It must be nice, Isaac thought, to have the whole world care about you so much that an interview about your hobbies was front cover material.

Or even just to be pretty. Isaac was as plain as they came, with curly brown hair and no other notable features. Average height, average build, average face.

And, according to the twenty rejection letters in his inbox, average talent, too.

His phone buzzed, and he checked the new text message.

It was one of the other managers at work, Olivia, asking where he was.

Eyes wide, he checked the time. His shift started five minutes ago.

“Crap!" Launching himself off the couch, he darted around his meagre apartment to gather his things. He'd spent too long psyching himself up to read the email. Dishes still weren't done, he hadn't packed anything for dinner, had he brushed his hair? Too late, didn't matter. Shoes on, phone in pocket, wallet? Where was his wallet? There, on the coffee table. He barely remembered to lock the door on his way out.

Olivia was going to murder him. She had the morning shift at Barnes and Noble, and he was the closing manager that night. She couldn't take her lunch break until he took over, and he was ten minutes away, seven if he ran the whole time.

He did his best to text and dodge other people as he ran through the city, darting around a jogger and almost knocking over a woman with too many shopping bags. His messenger bag knocked against his thigh with every step. At the corner, he panted hard to catch his breath until the light changed, and then he sprinted across the crosswalk.

His side ached. He wasn't out of shape, per se, but he didn't usually sprint for a mile, either.

The next street he turned onto was less crowded, much easier to run down. The only other person in front of him was a man in a stunning gray suit and black turtleneck, checking out the window display of the bakery.

Oh, there was someone behind that guy, actually, wearing ripped jeans and a tattered hoodie. Still, easy enough for Isaac to avoid—

The one wearing the hoodie wrapped an arm around the business man's throat and yanked him around the corner of the bakery, down a narrow alleyway between the shops.

Isaac blinked. He just…was he kidnapping that man? Was he going to kill him?

He slowed to a stop outside the alley, glancing around for someone more qualified to handle whatever was happening here. No one else had noticed.

Of course, no one else had noticed, why would Isaac's luck be any different?

“Hand over the wallet!" one of the men yelled. The hoodie guy, if Isaac had to guess.

“I don't have it!" the other man responded. “I'd give it to you if I did!"

Isaac peeked around the corner. Business Man was pressed up against the wall, open hands at his head. Hoodie Guy had a handful of the suit jacket in one hand, and a gun pressed under Business Man's chin in the other.

“I ain't playing, man! You've got to have something, threads like these, I know you're loaded!"

Isaac pulled back, chest heaving. That Hoodie Guy was about to murder the Business Man, and Isaac was the only one around. How fast could the police get here? He peeked around the corner again.

Not fast enough, he decided, and took a deep breath.