CHAPTER 2: THE COLD MEN DON'T ASK
709 Words
I didn’t dream.
That should’ve been a relief. It wasn’t.
I woke up like any other day. Alarm screaming. Fan clicking like it was tired of living. Ceiling staring back at me with that same crack I’d been meaning to ignore.
For a few seconds, I felt fine.
Then my body remembered before my head did.
The alley.
The sound.
The way he didn’t rush.
I sat up too fast and had to stop. Hand on my chest. Waiting for my heart to freak out. It didn’t. It stayed slow. Careful. Like it was listening.
That scared me.
I got dressed without thinking. Cold water on my face. Hair pulled back too tight because loose felt wrong. I looked at myself in the mirror and tried to find proof that something had changed.
Nothing looked different.
That felt wrong too.
At the door, I paused. Hand on the handle. This stupid thought crept in, quiet but heavy.
What if he’s there?
I almost laughed. Almost. Men like that didn’t linger. They didn’t hover around girls with cheap shoes and long shifts.
The hallway was empty. Of course it was.
Still, I walked faster than usual. Watched reflections instead of people. Glass. Cars. Anything that could show me what I couldn’t hear. No one followed. The city didn’t care what I’d seen. It never does.
By the time I reached work, I was halfway convinced last night would blur. Fade. People said trauma did that. Made things feel bigger than they were.
Then I saw the car.
Black. Parked across the street. Clean in a way that didn’t fit. Sitting there like it belonged even if it didn’t.
My stomach dropped. Not fast. Slow. Heavy.
The café bell rang when I went inside. Heat hit me. Coffee. Noise. Familiar things. For a second, I let myself believe them.
“You look terrible,” Mara said.
“Nice to see you too.”
She frowned. “You okay?”
I nodded. It was easier than saying I’d watched a man die and hadn’t made a sound.
I worked. Orders. Cups. Smiles that didn’t reach anywhere. My hands didn’t shake. That bothered me more than if they had.
I almost forgot about the car.
Almost.
He came in just before noon.
No drama. No pause. Just the bell and that shift in the room. Like the air tightened without asking permission.
He wasn’t wearing what he had last night. No coat. Just dark clothes. Simple. Clean. Sleeves rolled up like he didn’t need protection.
He didn’t look at me right away.
That was worse.
He sat near the back. Ordered coffee. Black. His voice calm like nothing bad had ever happened near him.
I brought it over. Didn’t spill.
“Did you forget the alley already?” he asked, staring into the cup.
“No.”
He looked up then. Just long enough. “Good.”
“You followed me.”
“I watched.”
The difference mattered to him. I could tell.
“Why?”
He took a sip. Set the cup down like he had time. “People who panic talk.”
“And I didn’t.”
“No.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
My fingers curled tighter around the tray. “Am I in danger?”
He studied me. Not my face. Something deeper. “Not today.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m not here to comfort you.”
The way he said my name made my skin go cold. Not fear. Something sharper. Like awareness.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“I know.”
That landed heavy. Too heavy.
He stood. Tall. Close. The café felt smaller. Like the walls leaned in.
“Go back to work,” he said. “And don’t take shortcuts home.”
“And if I do?”
His mouth moved slightly. Not a smile. “Then I was wrong about you.”
He left.
The bell rang. Noise rushed back in like nothing had happened. People laughed. Ordered drinks. Lived.
I stood there longer than I should have.
That night, I didn’t go straight home.
I took the long way.
And somewhere behind me, unseen, Cassian Moretti watched what I chose.
- Writer
