A thousand years

Shadows in Kadena

Restaurant Kadena, Split

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Restaurant Kadena, turning the white marble floors into a golden mirror. Waves from the Adriatic Sea crashed just beyond the glass. Laughter bubbled from linen-draped tables where tourists in linen shirts clinked wine glasses. Waitresses in crisp black aprons darted between them, trays balanced high.

A man stepped through the arched entrance. He paused, fingers twisting the thick golden ring on his right hand. Heads turned, women whispered, men straightened. He moved to an empty table by the window, the sea's salt air brushing his skin. No one sat that close to the edge; the view felt too vast, too alive.

Estelle spotted him first. She smoothed her apron, ponytail swinging as she grabbed a menu. Her shift had dragged since lunch, feet aching in these flats, but this guy? He pulled her gaze like a magnet. Tall, sharp jaw, dark hair falling just so. Late twenties, maybe. But something off—his skin too pale against the black shirt, eyes hidden under lowered lashes.

She reached his table, menu extended. "Afternoon. Welcome to Restaurant Kadena. Here's your menu. What can I get started for you?"

He didn't look up. Fingers traced the laminate edges, then snapped it shut. "Grilled sea bass. No sides. Water, still."

His voice cut low, smooth as polished stone. She took the menu, their knuckles grazing. A jolt hit her, like touching an old photo that stirred forgotten dreams. She froze.

He lifted his head. Their eyes locked. Gray, piercing, like storm clouds over the sea. Estelle's stomach flipped. She knew that face. Or did she? School? A party? No, deeper, like a shadow from childhood stories her grandmother whispered.

"Have we... met?" she blurted.

He opened his mouth, but she waved it off, cheeks heating. "Sorry. Stupid question. I'll get that right out."

She turned, heels clicking on marble. Halfway to the kitchen, she glanced back. He stared outside, unmoving. She peeked again—his eyes met hers, cold as Adriatic winter. She whipped forward, pulse racing.

At the service station, the other waitresses huddled. Mia leaned in, twisting a napkin. "New guy by the window. Hot, but gives me chills. Like he stepped out of a vampire flick."

Lena giggled, fanning herself. "Those eyes. I'd let him bite."

Estelle slid the order ticket into the printer. "He's just eating alone. Chill."

Ema bounced up, ponytail swinging, eyes sparkling. Estelle's best friend since high school, always chasing the next thrill. "Spill. What's his deal? You served him. He tip well?"

Estelle rolled her eyes. "Sea bass. And no, I didn't ask his life story."

Ema grinned wider. "Let me take his food out. You look spooked."

Estelle crossed her arms. "I know what you're doing. Flirt and steal the big tip. Tell your boyfriend about that."

Ema laughed, loud and free. "Come on! Even he has a girlfriend. Sharing is caring."

Estelle snorted, shoving the ticket at her. "Grilled sea bass, lemon, herbs. Go."

Ema winked and grabbed the tray. Estelle watched her saunter over, hips swaying extra. The guy's table was quiet, but Estelle swore she saw his lips twitch. A smile? Nah.

Andrea heard every word. The restaurant's chatter washed over him like waves—forks clinking, glasses tinkling, the girls' whispers sharpest. Centuries sharpened his ears. He twisted the ring again, gold biting into skin.

Ema set the plate down with a flourish. Steam rose from the bass, lemon slices glistening. "Here you go. Enjoy. Need anything else?"

He didn't let her finish. Eyes flicked up, flat. "You should've let her bring it."

Ema blinked, tray dipping. "Excuse me?"

"I know the game. It won't work."

Her mouth opened, closed. "Thank you," she muttered, turning sharp on her heel.

Back at the station, Ema huffed to Estelle. "Girl, he shut me down cold. Didn't even let me breathe."

Estelle peered past her. Andrea forked the fish, steam curling. "Maybe you're too pretty for him. Never know—he could have a girlfriend."

Ema scoffed, crossing arms. "Please. Guys like that? Can't keep a girl. Too intense. Bet he's single and miserable."

Estelle's gaze drifted. Andrea's fork paused mid-air. His free hand clutched his chest, knuckles white. The ring dug in. He shoved the table—glass and plate rattled, water spilling. A choke rasped from his throat, raw, animal.

"Andrea?" No—Estelle didn't know his name. But she was moving, Ema right behind.

They reached him as he gripped the chair arms, body rigid. Face drained whiter, veins bulging at his neck.

"What's wrong?" Estelle's hand hovered near his shoulder, not touching. That chill from his eyes seeped out now, frosting the air.

Ema scanned the plate. "Allergy? Talk to us!"

He gasped, words scraping out. "What... did you put... in the food?"