Escaping Evil Through Time

Chapter 15: The Gathering at Impresso Espresso

The sun hung low over Starmere, bathing the streets in a soft golden glow as the familiar bustle of Sunday afternoon drifted past the windows of Impresso Espresso. The café hummed with warmth—clinking mugs, low laughter, the rich scent of coffee and sugar—and for the Evans siblings and their ever-growing circle, it was sacred ground.

Kali Evans arrived first.

She pushed through the door with practiced ease, the bell chiming overhead as she adjusted Micah against her shoulder. Motherhood sat naturally on her now—three children, three different rhythms, all somehow woven into her stride. Ziva and Eliza were quickly deposited into the play area with the confidence of a woman who had done this many times before.

“Kali!” Tiffany called, already seated with Nathan beside her, their twins bundled in a stroller nearby.

Tiffany looked effortlessly radiant, as she always did—hair loose today, flour dusting her sleeve like a badge of honor. Nathan leaned back in his chair, relaxed, content in the chaos of family life.

“Hey, Tiff,” Kali said, smiling as she approached. “You beat me.”

“Only because I brought reinforcements,” Tiffany said, lifting the box between them. “Lemon blueberry muffins. Still warm.”

Kali laughed. “You’re dangerous.”

Ryan arrived moments later, sunlight trailing in behind him as he pushed open the door. One of Kali’s wombmates—triplet-born, inseparable by nature if not by personality—he looked at ease, coffee already in mind.

“Please tell me those are for everyone,” he said, snagging a muffin before anyone could stop him.

“They are,” Tiffany said, amused. “But you still have to share.”

Jojo swept in soon after, balancing Sterling in one arm while Ruby darted ahead of her, already scanning the café for her favorite cousin. “Ethan’s not here yet?” Ruby asked, disappointed. “He’s probably at the beach,” Ryan said. “Again.”

Jojo rolled her eyes fondly as she joined the table. “Sorry I’m late. Studio ran long—but I brought sketches.”

“Of course you did,” Kali said, already leaning in.

Sterling slept peacefully, unaware of the soft undercurrent that passed through the table as Micah stirred in Kali’s arms. Not crying—just shifting, as if reacting to something no one else could sense.

Julien arrived quietly.

No dramatic entrance. Just a soft greeting and a chair pulled out beside Kali. He looked tired in a way that wasn’t physical—eyes thoughtful, posture restrained. “Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said. “Never,” Kali replied, smiling—but there was space in it. Not distance. Just awareness. Conversation flowed easily after that.

Julien spoke about work—carefully edited versions of supernatural cases and time fractures, enough to entertain without unsettling. Rylan burst in halfway through, loud and unapologetic as ever, demanding coffee and the full version of Julien’s ghost story.

Carson arrived next, apologizing for being late and casually mentioning teleporting a calf to safety, which earned groans and laughter in equal measure. Zara swept in with stories from practice, animated and breathless, while Jake followed not long after, proudly announcing a newly developed ability that immediately reignited the eternal triplet rivalry.

“That’s not fair,” Ryan protested. “We’re supposed to unlock powers together.”

Jake grinned. “Guess I just evolved faster.” Kaleb arrived last, exhausted and starving, football practice written all over him.

And then Roxi. She approached the table slowly, Micahol settled safely in the play area, worry etched deep into her face.

“Beau got arrested,” she said quietly. The table stilled. Coffee cooled. Laughter faded. But no one panicked.

Hands reached out. Questions were asked gently. Support settled in like muscle memory.

Outside, the sun slipped below the horizon, shadows stretching across the street as the café lights brightened. Inside, babies slept, cousins played, and the family—messy, magical, imperfect—held steady. Micah shifted again.

Sterling stirred. boys reacted differently to the same unseen pull—one growing calm, the other restless. No one noticed.

Not yet. For now, there was coffee to drink, muffins to finish, and a fragile sense of peace to protect.

And for this moment, that was enough. Kali adjusted Micah against her shoulder, shifting him slightly as he stirred again. His tiny brow furrowed, not in distress, but concentration. His fingers flexed, opening and closing, as though reaching for something just out of sight. Across the table, Sterling let out a soft sound. Not a cry. A low, questioning hum. Kali glanced up instinctively.

For a brief moment, the café noise dulled — the laughter, the clink of mugs, even the music seemed to fade into the background. The two boys weren’t looking at each other. They weren’t even facing the same direction. Yet both had gone still.

Micah’s breathing evened out, his body relaxing completely, as if something had settled into place. Sterling, on the other hand, grew restless, squirming slightly in Jojo’s arms, his tiny hand curling tight around her sleeve.

Kali felt it then. A faint pressure in the air. Not heavy. Not dangerous. Attentive. Her heart skipped.

“Jojo,” she started, lowering her voice. “Did you—” Sterling shifted again, the moment breaking like a snapped thread. Someone laughed too loudly nearby. A chair scraped. The café rushed back into focus. Jojo bounced Sterling gently, smiling. “What?”

Kali blinked. Micah sighed in his sleep. She shook her head, forcing a small laugh. “Nothing. Sorry. New-mom brain.”

Jojo grinned. “Join the club.” Kali nodded, but her gaze lingered on the boys for a second longer than necessary.

For just a heartbeat, she had the strangest feeling that if she’d spoken one second sooner—if she’d paid closer attention—she might have seen something she wasn’t ready to understand. Micah slept on. Sterling didn’t.

And somewhere beneath the hum of the café, something unseen waited—patient, observant, unfinished.

Julien had been halfway through his coffee when the sensation hit. Not a surge. Not danger. A ripple.

His fingers tightened around the mug as the world seemed to tilt—not visually, not enough for anyone else to notice, but in the way time itself subtly adjusted its footing. Like something had cleared its throat. He looked up sharply.

The café was the same: laughter, chatter, warmth. But beneath it— There. His gaze locked on the table. On the boys.

Micah lay quiet in Kali’s arms, unnaturally still, his tiny chest rising in slow, measured breaths. There was a steadiness to him that set Julien’s teeth on edge—not wrong, just anchored, as if gravity itself had decided to pay attention.

Sterling, on the other hand, shifted restlessly in Jojo’s hold, his small hand fisting and unfisting, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. Time around him felt… crowded. Julien swallowed. That shouldn’t be possible.

He reached—not with power, not fully. Just enough to feel the edges.

Whatever hovered near them recoiled slightly, like something realizing it had been noticed. Julien’s breath caught.

He pulled back immediately, heart pounding, forcing himself to relax his posture, to smile when Ryan said something he didn’t quite hear. Don’t draw attention. That instinct had saved lives before. But this— This wasn’t a fracture. It wasn’t a threat he could isolate or rewind. It was alignment. Julien glanced at Kali. She was watching the boys too, brow faintly furrowed, though she didn’t know why. Her awareness brushed the edge of it without crossing over. Good, Julien thought. Not yet. He leaned back in his chair, pretending interest in the conversation while his mind raced. Two infants. Same presence. Different reactions. Sterling strained toward it. Micah stabilized it. Julien felt a chill trace his spine. “This is going to matter,” he murmured under his breath.

No one heard him. The sensation faded, slipping back beneath the noise of the café, but Julien didn’t relax. He knew better.

Whatever had stirred wasn’t gone. It had simply learned patience. Julien took another sip of his coffee, now cold, and forced himself to stay present. To laugh at the right moments. To keep his eyes from drifting back too often. But inside, a familiar certainty settled into place. This wasn’t coincidence. And it wasn’t over.