ALL ALONG I WAS THE SERIAL KILLER, BUT THEY NEVER KNEW

The Coffee Shop

Elara chose the coffee shop for its glass walls.

If someone was going to try and corner her, she preferred to be surrounded by witnesses — the kind who’d smile politely but never truly intervene.

She sat with her back to the street, sipping an espresso, when the bell above the door chimed.

She didn’t need to turn to know.

The air shifted — that same subtle disturbance she’d felt in her apartment.

“Mind if I join you?”

The voice was low, deliberate. Smooth enough to pass as friendly, but with a weight that hinted otherwise.

Elara looked up. Cade was taller than she expected, his dark coat still wet from the drizzle outside. He had the kind of face you couldn’t quite read — not handsome in the traditional sense, but magnetic in the way trouble often is.

She smiled faintly. “It’s a free country.”

He sat, not asking again, and placed his coffee between them. No introductions. No small talk. Just a casual, lean forward as if they were old acquaintances.

“I liked your little… performance last night,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on hers. “Though I must admit, I expected better.”

She stirred her espresso slowly, as though weighing the sweetness. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Oh, you have more than one.” His smile was faint but deliberate. “Some are just… quieter about it.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. The shop smelled of cinnamon and burnt milk, but all Elara could taste was the metallic edge of danger.

Finally, she leaned in slightly, her voice soft but steady.

“Then you should know, Cade… I don’t perform for free.”

For the first time, his expression shifted — not surprise, not amusement, but something closer to recognition.

When he left, he didn’t take his coffee.