The First Thread
314 Words
Elara didn’t usually care about customers.
Most faces blurred together, fading into the static hum of ordinary life. But the man in the dark coat stayed sharp in her mind — like the glint of a blade in the corner of her eye.
He sat there for almost an hour, nursing his coffee. Not scrolling through his phone, not reading, not people-watching casually. No, his gaze swept the room in slow, deliberate arcs… always returning to her.
She made herself move naturally. Smile at other customers. Laugh at a coworker’s joke. Wipe down tables. But she also made herself memorize him — the faint scar near his jaw, the habit of tapping his index finger against the coffee cup, the way his eyes scanned everything like he was building a mental map.
A cop?
No. Too… still. Cops had an energy to them. This was colder. Calculating.
When he finally stood, he didn’t leave right away. He stopped by the counter to thank her for the coffee. His voice was deep, steady — the kind that could soothe you or cut you apart, depending on the words.
“Busy day?” he asked.
She offered her a practised, easy smile. “Always is.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “That’s good. Keeps you… distracted.”
The word lingered. Distracted. Like he meant something else entirely.
He left without looking back.
But she knew he would.
People like him always came back.
That night, she didn’t kill. She didn’t prowl the streets or scroll through her list of names. Instead, she sat in the dim light of her kitchen, replaying every second of their interaction. His voice. His eyes. That word.
Somewhere in her gut, she knew this man was not just a stranger.
And in a city full of predators, she might have just crossed paths with one who hunts differently.
- Writer
