THE NEXT MORNING, Callie’s Café buzzed with the quiet hum of conversation. From behind the counter came the steady hiss of the espresso machine, mixing with the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

  This place had always been a Saltgrove staple with its cream-coloured walls, mismatched chairs and polished wooden floors.

  Ana and I sat at a small table in the corner, sipping our hot drinks while Callie’s daughter weaved between tables with practiced ease, her curly hair bouncing with every step as she delivered beverages.

  My thoughts wandered back to the last time I’d been here. Ophelia had been beside me, stealing bites of my toast, while Ana’s soft laughter floated through the air. I blinked quickly, forcing the tears back before they could fall. To keep myself occupied, I focused on tracing patterns on the worn surface of the table, the motion slow, almost wistful as I followed the grooves with the tip of my finger. It was then that Callie’s soothing voice pulled me back to the present.

  “Avocado toast with poached eggs,” she announced, setting it down in front of me. “On the house.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she levelled me with the kind of look only Callie could manage—stern, but undeniably warm.

  I sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. “Thank you,” I said, glancing down at the plate. “It looks amazing.”

  “It’s nice to see you again, sweetheart. Even, if… well, even if I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Yeah… me too.”

  Callie smiled, soft and understanding. She didn’t ask me if I was feeling okay, she knew better than that. Instead, she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and rubbed her thumb in a reassuring gesture.

  “If you ever need anything, honey, you just let me know. Anything at all.” Her touch lingered for a moment longer before she stepped back, her expression sincere but knowing.

  I met her chestnut-coloured eyes and gave a small, grateful nod. “Thanks, Callie. I appreciate it.”

  Callie then paused, eyeing the empty space in front of Ana. “You sure you don’t want anything else? Maybe a pastry?”

  Ana shook her head, offering a grateful smile. “I’m good, really. Just the coffee is enough for me today.”

  Callie seemed to accept the answer, giving a small nod. “If you’re sure…” She lingered for a second longer, her gaze tender as she glanced at us both. “Take care of yourselves, alright? I’ll be here if you need me.”

  As she walked away, my gaze dropped down to my plate, my thoughts whisking away back to my sister.

  “Are you okay?” Ana asked, noticing that I was lost in thought once again.

  “Huh? Oh, I’m okay. Just thinking...” I trailed off, frowning. After a beat, I cleared my throat and shifted my focus, looking for something else to latch onto. “I’ve been meaning to check out that new bookstore in town,” I said, my fingers tapping against the edge of my plate. “I think I remember passing it yesterday when we were in the car. It's just a street over. Did you want to come with me?”

  “I’ll tag along.”

  “Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you,” I replied, my lips quirking slightly.

  “Really? A book about wizards?”

  I ran my fingers over the red spine and flipped to the back cover in interest. I looked up to respond to Ana, but my eyes caught onto more books featuring the same character on the shelf. My grin widened.

  “A series for…” I checked the price tag, “fifty dollars? Jackpot.”

  Ana raised an eyebrow as I scooped up the whole series. “You’re committing to an entire series based off of one blurb?”

  I scoffed. “Please, I’ve made worse life choices for less.”

  She shook her head but followed as I drifted toward the front of the shop. Her hand glided along the spines of the books beside her before she casually pulled one out and added it to my pile. My eyes hone in on the cover— dark, sultry tones, a scandalous cover and a title that sounded very suggestive.

  I shot her a look. “Ana.”

  She smirked. “What? You need variety,” she said unapologetically. “You can’t live on magic and world-building alone.”

  “Mark my words, if I open this and the first sentence is ‘His throbbing—‘”

  “Then you’re welcome.” She smiled sweetly at me.

  I groaned but didn’t bother removing it. I had bigger things to focus on, like making it to the counter without dropping everything that was currently in my hands. But just as I was about to reach the register, Ana suddenly grabbed my arm.

  “Eden!” she whispered harshly.

  Confused, I turned toward her. “What?”

  Her index finger pointed to the window. “Isn’t that the guy from the other night?”

  My gaze snapped to where she was looking. A tall figure in a worn leather jacket strode past the storefront. I squinted through the paned windows, the black frames obscuring my view slightly. But the dark hair—slightly long, curling at the ends—the broad shoulders.

  My breath hitched. Maybe.

  But I couldn’t be sure. Not from here.

  Without thinking, I shoved my pile of books into Ana’s arms. “Wait here.”

  “Eden—”

  I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. The bell above the door jingled as I stepped onto the concrete sidewalk, the crisp air hitting my skin. My eyes locked onto the figure just as he turned the corner.

  Before the door shut behind me, the cashier’s voice drifted through the narrowing gap of the door. “Next customer?”

  My boots tapped against the pavement as I hurried after him. However, when I rounded the bend, he was nowhere to be seen. I hesitated in my spot, scanning the street lined with an odd car or two. There was no way he could’ve disappeared that fast. He had to be nearby.

  I took a few steps forward, my gaze narrowing on an alley nestled between two buildings. I cautiously went over to it. It was dark and narrow, a single trash bin rolled against the brick wall. Too obvious.

  Then, I caught it. Movement.

  Not in the alley, but in the reflection of the window beside me on my right. He was walking back the way we had come, but on the opposite side of the street.

  Clever.

  He wasn’t running, but his pace was brisk and purposeful, like he wasn’t still recovering from a wound that should’ve made every step painful. There was no limp, no stiffness, not even the slightest indication that he was favouring a side. Either he was exceptionally good at masking his pain, or something wasn’t adding quite up.

  My pulse picked up as he turned around another corner. Oh, no you don’t. I rushed after him, glancing both ways before crossing the street and trailing him from a distance. He never looked back, not even once. Which, ironically, made it all the more obvious that he knew I was following him. Most people, even if only out of instinct, would check over their shoulder at least once. But not him. He was the perfect picture of nonchalance.

  At the next block, I expected him to keep going, to disappear down another street. But instead, he veered left, slipping into Callie’s Café.

  Interesting choice.

  The familiar scent of roasted coffee enveloped me as I stepped inside, wrapping around me like a warm hug. I didn’t get to relish in it for too long though, because as soon as I stepped foot inside the establishment, he had already turned on his heel, heading straight for the exit.

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  Seriously?

  I stepped directly into his path, my arms folding across my chest. He didn’t slow though, deciding to sidestep me without so much as a glance. He kept walking, making me feel like I was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

  Rude.

  I scoffed, pivoting sharply to follow him out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get away from me!” I called after him.

  No response.

  Undeterred, I picked up my pace, falling into step beside him. His strides may be longer, but unfortunately for him, I was persistent.

  I stared up at him, unimpressed. “Really? You’re just going to pretend I don’t exist?”

  Still nothing.

  Annoyed, I side-stepped in front of him, blocking his path and forcing him to either acknowledge me or literally bulldoze right through me. Finally, he came to a stop.

  Now that I was this close, I had no doubt. It was him. The piercing amber eyes, the resolute jawline, the strong, tenacious chin— completely clean-shaven. I had to admit, he was undeniably attractive. I hadn’t given his looks much thought the other night, not when my focus had been entirely on his injury, making sure he was still breathing. But now, standing here, it was impossible to ignore how striking he actually was.

  But something was off.

  His face was unmarred, free of the busted lip and the angry bruise that had shadowed his cheekbone just two nights ago. I blinked, trying to reconcile the sight before me with the memory of him, bloodied and barely holding onto consciousness. The images didn’t match up. There were no remnants left behind to mark that night.

  Confusion twisted in my gut. There was no way those injuries could have disappeared so quickly, not without something unnatural happening. But I couldn’t quite grasp the how.

  His eyes flicked over me, guarded. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, voice low and rough, “I’d think you were following me.” I hadn’t picked up on it the other night, but there was an unmistakable hint of a Russian accent laced through his words.

  I folded my arms. “Well, you should know better.”

  His expression barely shifted, just the faintest downturn of his lips and the smallest arch of a thick brow. Not the chatty type, I take it.

  After a beat of silence, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Do I know you?” His forehead creased like he was genuinely trying to place me.

  Maybe Ana really did give him a concussion.

  I let out an incredulous laugh. “Really? We’re going to play that game?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, already turning away, “and quite honestly, I’ve lost interest.”

  Frustration bubbled up in my chest. Unbelievable.

  “What happened that night?” I pressed, stepping after him.

  I got no response. Surprise. Surprise. He just kept walking, heading straight for a sleek, black, slightly scuffed motorcycle parked by the curb. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place why. He fished a key from the back pocket of his denim jeans.

  “Hey! Don’t walk away from me.” He popped open a compartment on the bike, ignoring me entirely. I scowled. “Stop ignoring me.”

  “I’m not ignoring you,” he said flatly. “I’m choosing not to listen.”

  Honestly, I think I liked him better unconscious.

  I gawked at him. “Oh, that’s the same thing and you know it!”

  His only response was to pull out a black helmet, completely unfazed. This guy was impossible. He rested it under his arm and closed the latch with a soft click before slipping the key into his pocket.

  My pulse spiked as I watched him swing his leg over the motorcycle and sit down. He was leaving, just like that.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath. Talking to him was like arguing with a brick wall??????????????????????????????????—silent, unmoving and completely uninterested in anything I had to say.

  “You can’t just pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  He didn’t even spare me a glance. Instead, he placed his helmet over his head and adjusted the strap, his fingers moving with lazy precision.

  His next words were dulled by the helmet, making him sound detached, almost hollow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Liar.

  My gaze zeroed in on his hands. They were big, calloused and now gripping onto the handlebars. And then I remembered the permanent marks lining his arm. They were peeking out from beneath the cuff of his jacket. My body moved before my mind caught up. My right hand shot out, fingers intent on closing around his left arm.

  His reaction was instant. His grip clamped around my outstretched arm, firm but controlled in a silent warning. My heart slammed against my ribs, but I barely registered it because in that split second, the movement had pulled his jacked taut around his bicep, causing his sleeve to ride up just enough to expose his wrist.

  And there they were.

  The tally marks.

  He couldn’t deny it anymore, the tattoos on his arm were unmistakable.

  A sharp breath caught in my throat. “It is you,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears.

  His grip loosened for the briefest second. That was all I needed. I yanked my arm free and stepped back. My pulse was still racing, my skin tingling where he had touched me.

  Although his eyes were hidden behind the tinted visor of his helmet, I could somehow feel their weight on me, burning through me with a silent intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching between us like a drawn wire. Then, finally, he sighed.

  “What do you want?” His voice was quiet, strained, as if he already regretted asking.

  I stood there, uncertain, my body tense. So many questions swirled in my mind but I knew if I pushed too hard, or if I asked too many he’d shut down completely.

  So, I started with the one that had been burning in my mind ever since I saw him again.

  “Your note,” I said. “The one you left before you disappeared. What did it mean?”

  His fingers tightened slightly on the throttle. “It meant exactly what it meant.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

  He nudged the stand of his motorbike up with his boot and pressed the ignition, the low rumble of the engine filling the air.

  “Wait,” I blurted out. “Just one last question.” He didn’t turn his head, didn’t acknowledge me beyond the subtle pause in his movements. The engine purred between us, waiting, just like he was. “Your injury,” I said, my gaze flicking to where I knew the wound had been, carved right along his side. “It was deep. Is it…?” I trailed off, realising mid-sentence how ridiculous the question was.

  He had been moving as if the injury had never been there to begin with. And considering he’d been nothing but a gaslighting arsehole to me this entire time, I had no reason to care. So, why did I? I told myself it was just the nurse in me, the part that couldn’t turn a blind eye, even when the person in question probably didn’t deserve the concern.

  “It’s fine,” he said calmly, offering no further explanation. I was about to push for more, but before I could, he exhaled—an almost amused sound, like he knew something I didn’t. “Goodbye, Eden.”

  How in the hell did he know my name?

  My lips parted, a question already forming on my tongue, but my brain was short-circuiting. Before I could force the words out, he twisted the throttle toward his body. The engine roared to life, and in the next breath, he was gone, tires biting into the pavement as he shot forward.

  I stood there, frozen and at a loss for words as I watched his taillights disappear down the street. At the last second, just before he vanished around the corner, he glanced over his shoulder. It was fleeting, barely a second, but I caught it.

  Then, he was gone, putting as much distance between us as possible.

  “What in the world did I just witness?” Ana’s voice suddenly asked from behind me, startling me from my thoughts.

  “Oh, Ana!” I gasped in surprise, my hand instinctively flying to my chest as I whirled around, my heart racing. She was leaning casually against the wall of an antique shop, tucked under the shade of the roof’s eave, her hand holding onto a large, crinkled paper bag. “You scared me.”

  She smirked, completely unbothered by the fact that she had just shaved a few years off my lifespan. She lifted the brown bag in the air, and gave it a wiggle.

  “Here are your books by the way. I bought them since I was left behind so you could go play detective.”

  I couldn’t help but wince as I walked over to her. “Sorry about that. I thought it was best I go investigate, considering you knocked him out twice.”

  She tilted her head, lips curling into a wry grin. “Right, because following a guy who’s clearly hiding something, in broad daylight, all by yourself, is the smart and responsible thing to do."

  “Well, you were watching, weren’t you?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “Obviously,” she replied, her tone flat as if I’d just asked her if the sky was blue. “Had to make sure you didn’t get yourself in trouble.”

  I glanced back down the empty street where he had disappeared, the roar of his motorbike echoing in the recesses of my mind, replaying over and over like a broken record. That sound. That speed. It was so familiar.

  But where had I heard it before?

  I frowned, trying to place it. Then it hit me.

  “Ana. That motorbike… it’s the same one I saw heading towards the National Forest. The afternoon we arrived. “The memory resurfaced, the black chrome flashing in the sun, tearing across the gravel loudly. If he went up there,” I said slowly, piecing it together, “then how did he end up on the shore?”

  Ana’s lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed the information. I could see the wheels turning in her mind. “Do you think he fell?”

  I didn’t have an answer. Not yet. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew we weren’t dealing with just some random freak accident.

  Had he been chased? Had someone or something forced him off the cliffs? And what was he even doing up there in the first place so late, especially so close to where Ophelia’s body had been found?

  A chill crept along my spine.

  Ana studied me, eyes narrowing. “Eden… I know that look. What are you about to do?”

  "Not what I’m about to do. What we’re about to do."