They slipped into the café, the bell above the door chiming softly, a sound that jolted Vivian’s already frayed nerves. This place was too open, too central—nothing like the tucked-away safety of Yumi’s salon—and her heart kicked up, thudding hard against her ribs. Her eyes flicked around, quick and wary, scanning faces for any hint of recognition, any spark that might undo her. She felt exposed, a stranger in her own body, the new clothes clinging like a costume she couldn’t shed.

  She forced her pace to slow, Yumi’s words echoing in her head. Soften. Lean. She shifted closer to Noah, her shoulder brushing his, but it felt wrong—stiff and rehearsed, like she was playing a part she hadn’t learned. Her fingers twitched, restless, as she fought the urge to bolt.

  Noah’s hand closed around hers, warm and steady, his grip tightening just enough to anchor her. “We’ll be fine,” he murmured, his voice low and sure, like he’d never doubted it for a second. “You’re someone else now. No one’s looking.”

  She glanced up, catching his dark eyes—darker still against that bleached hair. For a second, the darkness stilled her. She felt the edges of her mind shift a little, become slightly clearer. She blinked, shaking her head a little. Noah regarded her questioningly and she quickly looked away. There were too many jagged pieces she didn’t want seen. And as much as she wanted to trust him, trust was a dangerous thing with Noah, sharp-edged and slippery.

  The café hummed around them, warm and alive with the scent of coffee and sugar, sunlight spilling through big windows to pool on wooden tables. It should’ve felt safe, cozy even, but to Vivian, it was a spotlight. She didn’t belong here—not like this, not as this stranger she’d become.

  Her chest tightened, the numb haze settling over her again as she watched Noah move ahead. He was different too, but where she stumbled, he flowed. That loose shirt, those worn jeans, the way he slouched just a little—he’d slipped into this new skin like it was his all along. No coaching, no hesitation. His movements were fluid now, less stiff, carrying an edge that wasn’t there before—dangerous, untamed.

  The golden boy from her math lectures, all polite smiles and crisp edges, was gone, replaced by this shadowed figure who seemed more at home here than she’d ever be.

  He scanned the room, zeroing in on a man by the window. The guy stood as they approached, his broad grin bright and easy, tight coils of hair cropped close above a neatly trimmed beard. “This is Isaac Coleman,” Noah said, voice casual. “Analyst at some big consulting firm. Keeps the suits happy.”

  Isaac pulled Noah into a quick, warm hug, and Vivian hung back, watching, her stomach knotting. Their ease grated against her raw nerves.

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  “Been a minute, man,” Isaac said, his voice deep and smooth, like he owned the room. His eyes slid to Vivian, a quick once-over, then back to Noah with a smirk. “Fuck, you’ve got a type, don’t you?”

  Vivian’s gaze flattened, flicking to Noah with a look that could cut. Mochi. Or someone else. Her mouth was dry, and she was still dizzy, but she managed a sarcastic quip. “Let me guess, we share a …certain aesthetic?”

  Noah winced, air hissing through his teeth as he shot Isaac a glare. “Why? Why did you do that?”

  Isaac’s laugh rolled out, loud and warm, pulling eyes from nearby tables. Vivian watched it all with a strange, detached chill—Isaac’s charm, Noah’s effortless slide into this banter. It twisted something in her gut. How foreign he seemed now, how natural this version of him was. If he could shift so seamlessly, what else was he hiding? How much of him was real?

  Isaac waved them to sit, and Vivian followed Noah’s lead, her spine stiff as she sank into the chair. When Isaac ordered coffee and sandwiches like he lived there, her wariness sharpened—too familiar, too comfortable. He and Noah, too easy in their shadowed world.

  Their talk flowed easy—Isaac’s promotion, his family, Noah grinning like he meant it. “How’s your brother taking it?” Noah asked, voice warm, leaning in.

  Isaac traced the rim of his cup, a soft smile tugging at him. “Good. Graduates next month—finance, Northwestern. Kid’s drowning in job offers.”

  Vivian shifted, the intimacy of it all pressing against her numbness. She felt like a ghost at their table, watching Noah’s relaxed laugh, his ease with Isaac. This wasn’t the calculating shadow she knew—it was too normal, too human. And that was even more unnerving.

  The waitress cleared their plates, and Isaac slid a small, wrapped box across the table, casual as anything. “Happy Birthday, man. Sorry it’s late.”

  Noah peeked inside, then shut it with a nod, his face neutral but pleased. “You didn’t have to. Looks perfect. Thanks.”

  Isaac stood, stretching slightly. “Gotta head back to work,” he said, his tone light but firm, smoothing his jacket with a practiced flick. He nodded at Vivian. “Nice meeting you,” he added, polite but distant.

  She hadn’t given her name—wasn’t supposed to—and mirrored his nod with a faint smile. “You too.”

  He clapped Noah’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself,” he said, a quiet weight in his voice.

  “You too,” Noah replied, firm and steady.

  Vivian tracked Isaac as he melted into the crowd outside, his ease unsettling her. Another shape-shifter, like Noah—his public face so smooth, so careful. She didn’t know where he fit, and that left her cold.

  Noah’s hand settled on her waist as they headed out, guiding her with a gentle possessiveness. “Lean,” he murmured, close enough that his breath brushed her ear.

  Her face burned, frustration flaring—she’d forgotten again, lost in her head. She leaned into him, stiff at first, then softer, his warmth seeping through her defenses. He tilted his head, inhaling her new scent, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as she tensed against him.

  She pushed past it, voice tight. “What’s next?”

  He straightened, sobering. “Reached out about Key. Should hear back soon. For now, safe house.”

  As they stepped into the street, Vivian’s numbness clung to her, heavy and cold. She was a stranger—to herself, to him—wary of every glance, every shadow. And Noah, so at home in his new skin, only deepened the ache. How easily he became someone else. How easily he might leave her behind.