Simone Velariz stood motionless behind the counter long after the bell had stilled and the last echo of boots on gravel had faded into the night. He lifted the coffee cup with the slow reverence of someone who had learned to savor small, mortal things, because eternity had taught him how quickly even the bitterest tastes could vanish.
The steam curled upward like a sigh. He let the heat linger on his tongue, rolling it across the roof of his mouth, drawing out the moment. Memories, he had discovered, tasted better when you gave them time to burn.
He was Veilborn. Not wolf, not fae, not human but something older, something that had slipped between the cracks of creation when the world was still deciding what rules it would follow. Centuries ago he had walked out of the veil’s silvered hal
