The bell chimes as Alex steps into Henry’s Café, the scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. The air is thick with the hum of quiet conversations, the occasional clatter of ceramic cups meeting saucers. Dim golden light spills from vintage sconces along the walls, casting long, soft afternoon shadows that make the place feel smaller, cozier—the kind of spot where people linger over half-empty mugs, lost in their own worlds.

  Alex, however, isn’t here to linger.

  Her sharp gaze sweeps the room, cataloging the usual patrons: students hunched over textbooks, late workers glued to laptops, a few people who might just like the ambiance. Her eyes settle on a man in the farthest booth, his posture stiff as he raises a hesitant hand in greeting.

  She knows that face. Not well. Not enough for comfort. But enough to put her on edge.

  He resembles someone from Chris’ circle, someone she’s seen in the periphery of graveyard meetings and whispered conversations. And that? That makes him a problem.

  Alex strides over, shoulders squared, boots striking the floor in measured beats. The man—bespectacled, slightly disheveled, exuding the kind of nervous energy that screamed 'academic out of his depth'—gestures to the seat across from him.

  She slides in, ignoring the way he extends a hand.

  "Hello, Alexandria. I’m Clifford," he offers.

  She stares stony at the outstretched hand. He retracts it quickly, clearing his throat, fingers twitching as they retreat to his lap.

  "On to business, I presume," he mutters.

  Her glare is all the confirmation he needs.

  Clifford fidgets, adjusting his glasses. "Um. Shall I order coffee?"

  "I don’t drink coffee."

  "What do you drink, then?"

  "Blood." She tilts her head, just slightly. "Shall we proceed?"

  Clifford swallows hard, eyes darting away. "Y-yes. Chris asked me to give you something."

  Alex leans forward, forearms resting on the table, her expression unreadable. "I was with him yesterday. If he had something for me, why didn’t he just give it to me then?"

  Before Clifford can answer, Henry strides over, notepad in hand, though it’s more for show than necessity.

  "What can I get—hey, Alex."

  "Nothing for me, thank you, Henry."

  He taps his pencil against the notepad, eyes scrutinizing her thoroughly. "I didn’t ask what you wanted yet. I just said ‘Hey.’"

  Alex exhales slowly. "Hey."

  Henry crosses his arms, gaze flicking between her and Clifford. "You on a date?"

  Alex raises an eyebrow. "Does this look like a date?"

  Henry eyes Clifford, taking in the slightly ruffled button-up, the glasses, the jittery energy. "I mean, if you’ve got a steaming pile of daddy issues, then yeah."

  Clifford chokes on absolutely nothing. Alex just stares at Henry, deadpan.

  Henry smirks. "Sorry, sir. Didn’t see you there. May I take your order?"

  Clifford clears his throat, regaining some composure. "Coffee. Black. And a bagel." Then, after a beat, "Also, I’ll have you know, I’m not that old."

  Henry doesn’t miss a beat. "Got it. You look like that on purpose, then."

  Clifford blinks. "Excuse me?"

  Alex pinches the bridge of her nose. "Henry."

  Henry shrugs. "Tell you what, since you’re on a date and I was kinda rude—"

  "Kinda?"

  "—I’ll throw in some fries, complimentary."

  Clifford perks up. "As long as I don’t have to pay for them."

  Henry grins, wicked. "Oh, we all have to pay for our sins one day or another, sir." Then, to Alex, he mouths: I mean, cheap?

  He saunters off with a wink at her, looking far too pleased with himself.

  Clifford glares after him, still processing. "What is his problem?"

  Alex, unimpressed, refocuses. "You were saying, Cliff?"

  "Clifford," he corrects, but wisely moves on. "Chris risked his life to make sure you got this."

  Alex leans in slightly, interest piqued despite herself. "What exactly is ‘this’?"

  Clifford exhales, pulling an obnoxiously large briefcase from under the table. He clicks it open, revealing a necklace nestled inside.

  Whatever jibes Alex had been preparing for the briefcase to object ratio dies on her tongue, once she places the necklace.

  She frowns as she picks it up. The chain is the same—delicate, well-worn—but the crystal at its center is different. Chris had always carried Lilian’s necklace with him after she passed. But this? This wasn’t exactly the same. For one, the shiny, blue pendant, was new.

  "This is Lilian’s," she says, confused.

  Clifford watches her expectantly. "Chris said you’d know what it was."

  Alex turns it over in her hands, unimpressed. "It’s Lilian’s necklace." She says flatly.

  Clifford stares at her, waiting for a grand revelation. A punchline. He does not get one. "You have no idea what this is, do you?"

  Alex squints at the necklace. "It’s... not Lilian’s necklace?"

  Clifford groans, rubbing his temples.

  Then, lowering his voice, he glances around before leaning in. "You need to hide it. Get it out of here as soon as possible."

  Alex tilts her head, expression cooling. "Except you haven’t told me anything. All you’ve done is hand me a necklace that belonged to my dead foster parent and ask me to disappear."

  Clifford exhales, frustration creeping into his tone. "I know what you are."

  Unfortunately, the whisper is a little too loud.

  A few heads turn. Customers murmur.

  Henry quickly appears again, arms crossed. Alex has a feeling he only pretends to be busy. "Alex. You’re making the customers mad."

  Alex gestures at Clifford. "Me? Tell that to Barbra Streisand over here."

  Henry narrows his eyes at the professor. "Barbra, you need to chill, otherwise we’re going to have to throw you out."

  He actually couldn’t toss out a paying customer unless they got violent. But Clifford didn’t need to know that.

  Henry lingers a second longer before leaving.

  Alex turns back to Clifford, eyes hard. She would grill him on how he found out about her later. For now Chris was more important. "Chris. Is he at least safe?"

  Clifford hesitates. "I don’t know. When I left, he was supposed to be the distraction."

  Alex sits up straighter, alarmed. "Distraction?"

  Clifford meets her gaze. "Last I saw him, he was fine. Save for a busted wrist."

  Alex inhales sharply. "A busted wrist? When was the last time you saw him?"

  Before Clifford can answer, Henry reappears, paper bag in hand.

  "Coffee, black. And bagel."

  Clifford takes the bag. "What about the fries?"

  Henry smirks. "I ate them. Going to and fro twice isn’t as easy as it looks. No fuss, they were complimentary anyway."

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Alex buries her face in her hands. "Henry, if you could come back later—"

  When she looks up, Clifford is already on his feet. "I have to go."

  He exits quickly and without fanfare.

  Alex moves to follow, but Henry slides into the seat beside her, blocking her in.

  "Did you two just break up?"

  Alex stares at him, exhausted. "Henry, I do not have time for this."

  He gives her a serious look. "Did he hurt you?"

  She exhales. "No. I’m fine. Now scoot over."

  Henry moves to the seat opposite her, pouting. "Why are you always mean to me?"

  Alex laughs incredulously, releasing only a puff of breath. "I act this way with everyone."

  "But not Akio." He counters, and she smiles fondly.

  "Akio has seniority."

  Henry nods. Then grins. "I finally got you into the shop."

  Alex glances around. "It is a nice shop."

  Henry brightens. "Want me to get you something?"

  "No.” She stands. “I have to go."

  "Already? I was trying to trick you into having coffee with me."

  "I truly do not like coffee, Henry. It has nothing to do with me not wanting to go on a date with you."

  “Ouch.” Henry pulls an imaginary stake from his heart. “So you are into older, glasses wearing men?”

  Alex laughs as she stands, starting towards the door. “Maybe. Or maybe I'm not just into you.”

  “Why not? I pay for all my fries!” Henry winces dramatically. "You break my heart, Jordan!" He yells after her.

  Alex smiles. But doesn’t turn back.

  Alex steps out of a taxi, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a few bills, handing them to the driver through the open window before turning toward her apartment building.

  She barely takes a step before movement in the corner of her eye makes her jerk. Her muscles coil instinctively, a sharp breath hitching in her throat—then just as quickly, exhales sharply in relief when she recognizes the figure waiting for her.

  “Oh my God!” she groans, pressing a hand to her chest before shooting a glare at the figure waiting near her door. “Lilian, please do not sneak up on me. It’s creepy.”

  She clasps her hands together in mock pleading, but Lilian Jordan remains completely unfazed. Standing under the dim glow of the overhead lamp, she looks as poised as ever, dressed like she’s about to step onto a red carpet instead of loiter outside an apartment complex. A clutch purse dangles effortlessly from one hand, the shimmer of expensive jewelry catching in the light.

  Alex lets her gaze drag up and down, one brow arching in silent scrutiny.

  “I’m trying to make a point,” Lilian announces.

  Alex lets out a long sigh, shaking her head as she fishes into her pocket. “How long have you been standing here? And what if someone tried to hurt you?”

  Lilian, entirely unbothered, gestures vaguely across the street. “My driver’s right there.”

  Sure enough, Ezra sits in a parked Rolls Royce, expression unreadable through the windshield.

  “Of course he is,” Alex mutters.

  He doesn’t move, doesn’t even look their way, but she knows he’s watching. He always is.

  “Of course he is,” she mutters, turning back to her task.

  Digging into her pocket, she pulls out a ridiculous bundle of keys, a tangled mess of metal loops and mismatched keychains. She starts flipping through them, scanning each one with practiced efficiency.

  Lilian watches this with mild amusement. “Do you work security part-time?”

  Alex snorts, still searching. “No. Why?”

  Lilian gestures pointedly at the absurd collection in her hands.

  “Oh. That.” Alex shrugs. “I’ve moved around a lot.”

  Lilian folds her arms, tilting her head. “And you kept the keys to every place?”

  “Yeah.” Alex pauses, trying a key. No luck. She moves on to the next. “I have a lot of stuff. Lived a long time. Sometimes I had to leave in a hurry.”

  Lilian’s brows lift. “And what if someone else moves in?”

  Alex flicks her a brief glance, something unreadable in her expression. “I don’t think you want to know how that ends.”

  Lilian studies her for a beat, then narrows her eyes. “You break in?”

  Alex scoffs, feigning offense. “It’s not breaking in if I have a key.” She smirks. “I prefer to call it ‘unaware visits.’”

  Lilian lets out an incredulous laugh. “And I’m the creepy one?”

  Alex doesn’t answer, too busy slotting another key into the lock. A quiet click, and the door swings open. Triumphantly, she grins. “We have a winner.” Then, turning to Lilian, she gestures toward the doorway. “Wanna come up?”

  Lilian arches a brow. “You’re inviting me in?”

  “Not really,” Alex admits with a smirk. “But I hear it’s customary.”

  Lilian shakes her head, chuckling as she lightly smacks Alex’s arm with her purse before stepping inside.

  The apartment complex is quiet, its private, upscale nature apparent in the pristine tile floors and soft ambient lighting. As they pass the front desk, Alex offers a casual nod to the receptionist, who returns the greeting with a familiar glance. Lilian trails beside her, taking everything in with an air of mild curiosity.

  They reach the elevator. Alex presses the button, and the doors slide open with a smooth chime. Stepping inside, she leans back against the mirrored wall, exhaling as the doors close.

  Lilian remains poised, hands resting lightly on the railing. “Long day?”

  Alex lets out a dry laugh. “You could say that.”

  Her gaze drifts back to Lilian’s attire, her lips twitching. “So, what’s the point you’re making exactly? That overdressing for a stakeout is a power move?”

  Lilian smirks, adjusting the delicate chain around her neck. “Presentation is everything, darling. People respect what looks expensive.”

  Alex snorts. “I respect comfortable shoes.”

  Lilian sighs dramatically. “And that is why you don’t get invited to high society events.”

  Alex lifts a brow. “I wasn’t aware I wanted to be.”

  “Of course you do. Everyone does,” Lilian says matter-of-factly. “The free food alone is worth it.”

  Alex hums in consideration. “Now that’s an argument I can get behind.”

  Another chime sounds, signaling another passing floor. The elevator hums beneath their feet, its movement smooth and unhurried.

  Lilian watches Alex’s reflection in the mirrored wall. “So, how many places have you lived?”

  Alex tilts her head slightly. “Enough that I’ve lost count. Some were nice. Some were… less nice.”

  Lilian studies her, curiosity flickering behind her sharp gaze. “And yet, you keep the keys.”

  Alex taps the bundle of keys against her palm. “Some doors you just don’t want to close for good.”

  A pause. Lilian’s voice is softer when she asks, “Ever gone back to any of them?”

  Alex hesitates, just for a second. Then, smirking, she shrugs. “Only for unaware visits.”

  Lilian rolls her eyes, but there’s something else in her expression now—a quiet understanding, a recognition of something unspoken.

  Another chime.

  Alex exhales, pushing off the wall. “This elevator is so slow. Feels like we’re going all the way to the moon.”

  Lilian smiles, leaning lightly against the railing. “Well, you do live at the top.”

  Alex shrugs. “Penthouse has the best view.”

  “And no nosy neighbors,” Lilian adds.

  Alex grins. “Exactly. That’s worth more than any society event, if you ask me.”

  The final chime rings. The doors glide open, revealing the hallway beyond.

  Alex steps forward, then turns back with a teasing smile. “Welcome to my humble lair.”

  Lilian shakes her head fondly. “I have a feeling it’s anything but humble.”

  Alex smirks, stepping aside and gesturing her forward. “Guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”

  The door unlocks with a quiet click, and Alex steps inside with Lilian close behind her. As they cross the threshold, the apartment’s lights flicker to life automatically, casting a soft, artificial glow across the space.

  Lilian lets out a low whistle, her gaze sweeping across the room. “Nice.”

  Alex grins, tossing her massive keyring onto the nearby console table. The clatter echoes slightly in the quiet apartment. She folds her arms, smirking with unmistakable pride. “For the record, I programmed that myself.”

  Lilian nods approvingly but then adds, “Oh, I can tell. Chris wouldn’t shut up about you after the Arc business.”

  She moves further inside, her attention shifting from the modern yet minimalistic furniture to the walls. The dull, monochromatic grey wallpaper draws a visible frown of disapproval to her face.

  “If you’re not colorblind,” Lilian says, narrowing her eyes, “I see no reason for this.”

  Alex shrugs, her expression unconcerned as she kicks off her boots and nudges them aside. “You might not have noticed, but I'm not too keen on colors.”

  Lilian turns to fully take her in, her scrutinizing gaze traveling from the spiky tufts of Alex’s short, dark hair to the all-black outfit. The boots, ripped jeans, V-neck, and even her fingerless gloves were a testament to her apparent aversion to color. The only exception was her navy-blue leather jacket, which now rested on the back of a chair.

  “Is this a Millennial thing?” Lilian asks, crossing her arms. “Are you depressed? Suicidal?”

  Alex snorts. “I assure you, none of those statements apply to me.”

  Lilian tilts her head. “I just find it odd that you choose to look like this on purpose.”

  Alex’s lips quirk in amusement. “Really? ‘Cause I think I look fire.”

  Lilian stares blankly. Alex’s amusement fades into mild confusion, then into quiet horror as she realizes what she just said.

  “Forget I said that.” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what it means.”

  She swipes her jacket off the chair and hangs it up, then gestures toward the couch. Lilian takes a seat, reclining slightly as she appraises the living room. The beige furniture is a relief to her eyes after the dreary walls, but she still clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

  Alex disappears into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Tea? Water? Twinkie?”

  Lilian shakes her head, smiling slightly. “No, thanks. I came to check on you.”

  Alex pokes her head back out. “Oh. Then check away.”

  “How’s the shoulder?”

  Alex rolls it in an exaggerated motion, testing it like a car mechanic would a newly oiled hinge. She nods, satisfied. “It’s shouldering.”

  Lilian exhales, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch, fingers tapping against her temple. She surveys the apartment again, but Alex notices the way her jaw tenses like she’s thinking about something else entirely.

  “Honestly, I expected more of a medieval aesthetic,” Lilian finally says.

  Alex, now leaning against the counter, furrows her brow. “Medieval?”

  “You know—knights of the Round Table, swords, all that.”

  Alex sighs, rubbing her face with both hands. “Again, I’m Macedonian. Not English.”

  Lilian raises a hand as if to swear an oath. “Yes, as you’ve insisted countless times. But the accent—”

  Alex groans, already sensing where this was going. “Why is everyone so hung up on my accent?”

  Lilian shrugs, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not hung up. I actually think you have a wonderful voice.”

  “Oh.” Alex falters, blinking back a blush. “Thank you.”

  A beat of silence stretches between them. Lilian fidgets slightly, debating whether to continue pressing the topic.

  “So… is there a reason you sound English?”

  Alex exhales sharply and pushes off the counter, muttering, “Oh my God.”

  She strides into the kitchen, yanking open a cupboard. There had to be something to tidy, something to rearrange—maybe the cups weren’t stacked properly.

  Lilian, of course, follows, undeterred. “Did Alexander sound English too?”

  Alex pivots, leveling her with a glare. “You said you came to check on my shoulder? The shoulder’s fine.” She says testily.

  “And that’s great news,” Lilian says without missing a beat. “Although, I wouldn’t have had to walk all this way if you had stayed over like I asked.”

  Alex stares at her, incredulous. “You barely know me. How am I—the potential predator—the one lecturing you on stranger danger?”

  Lilian simply smiles. “You saved Chris and me, and then we saved you. I’d say that’s enough to build the foundation for a nice friendship.”

  Alex exhales through her nose. “Look, I don’t want to be a bother—”

  Lilian reaches out, her fingers wrapping around Alex’s forearm gently.

  “Alex,” she interrupts, her voice softer now. “You could never be a bother. Not to me, and definitely not to Chris, no matter how grumpy and nonchalant he acts.”

  “That is a nice sentiment.” Alex says genuinely, “I appreciate it.”

  Lilian gives her a sweet smile, before letting go of her arm.

  The warmth of her touch is oddly grounding, and something unexpected stirs in Alex’s stomach even as it lingers. She shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to do with this sudden burst of warmth in the middle of what was supposed to be a normal evening.

  Instead of addressing it, she pivots back toward the cupboard, reaching up for a cup. “I’m making tea,” she announces. “And for the record, this does in no way facilitate the argument that I’m—”

  Her hand brushes against the ceramic, but she hesitates. A flicker of a thought crosses her mind. Slowly, she glances at her forearm—at the bare skin where Lilian’s hand had rested.

  Her nose doesn’t tingle. Her head doesn’t pound. She swipes a cautious hand under her nose, expecting the telltale warmth of blood. Nothing.

  Her fingers lower slightly, and her gaze shifts to Lilian, who is watching her with patient expectation. Right. She had cut off mid-sentence.

  Clearing her throat, Alex picks up the cup and finishes with a warm grin on her face, “...English.”