Chapter 3
1497 Words
Hannah Mercer had made a decision.
It was a very adult decision. A mature one. The kind therapists would applaud and immediately write down.
She was not going to think about the strange man from last night.
Not about the way the bar had gone quiet around him.
Not about how he’d spoken like the building was listening.
Not about how you don’t belong here had sounded less like an insult and more like a fact.
People were weird. Old neighborhoods were weird. Men who ordered water in bars were always suspicious.
That was it.
She unlocked The Latchkey just after sunset, flipped on the lights, and ignored the brief, uncomfortable sensation that the room hesitated before responding—like it was deciding whether or not to cooperate.
“Nope,” she muttered. “We’re not doing that.”
The lights came on. The bar looked normal. Scuffed wood, dusty bottles, faint smell of citrus cleaner and last night’s regret. Hannah exhaled and shrugged out of her jacket, tying her apron tight.
Normal night. Normal shift.
She could do normal.
Jessa showed up ten minutes later with coffee and opinions. “You look like you lost a fight with insomnia.”
“I lost,” Hannah said. “Insomnia fought dirty.”
They prepped the bar together, slicing fruit and restocking bottles. The routine helped. Muscle memory was grounding. Real.
By the time the first customers trickled in, Hannah had almost convinced herself she’d imagined the unease.
Almost.
Then the far-left seat went empty.
Hannah noticed it without meaning to.
She told herself that was stupid. Chairs were empty all the time. But that particular spot felt… quiet. Like the air around it was waiting.
She frowned at it, irritated. “Don’t start,” she whispered.
The bell chimed.
Hannah didn’t look right away.
She didn’t need to.
Her body knew.
Adrian walked in.
He looked the same—dark clothes, composed posture, calm expression that made him feel slightly unreal. He didn’t scan the room this time. He didn’t hesitate.
He went straight to the far-left seat and sat.
The stillness folded in around him.
Not dramatically. Not visibly.
But Hannah felt it anyway, like pressure changing before a storm.
Her brain, exhausted and unhelpful, supplied commentary:
Fantastic. The walking red flag is back.
Jessa leaned in. “That's him again, isnt it?”
“Yes,” Hannah muttered.
“He’s so hot,” Jessa said.
“He’s unsettling,” Hannah corrected.
“Same thing sometimes.”
Hannah grabbed a rag and walked over, professional mask locked in place.
“You’re back,” she said, neutral but not warm.
Adrian looked up. His gaze lingered on her—not in a leering way, not even a flirtatious one. He looked like he was listening.
“Yes,” he said. “I wanted to see if it would happen again.”
Hannah froze. “See if what would happen again?”
His eyes flicked briefly to the bar, then back to her. “The change.”
Hannah laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “You’re going to have to be more specific. This place changes nightly. Usually for the worse.”
Adrian’s mouth twitched. Barely.
“Water,” he said.
“Of course,” Hannah muttered. “Naturally.”
She poured it and slid the glass toward him. As her hand passed over the counter, she felt it—the faintest prickle along her skin, like static before a shock.
She pulled back instinctively.
Adrian noticed.
“You feel it,” he said.
“I feel tired,” Hannah replied. “Which is very common for people who work nights.”
He studied her for a long moment, expression unreadable. “Do you always joke when you’re uncomfortable?”
“Yes,” Hannah said instantly. “It’s my most reliable coping mechanism.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he murmured. “It makes it harder to tell when you’re lying.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Careful.”
He inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging a boundary. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything.”
“Oh good,” Hannah said. “Because I haven’t done anything.”
“I know,” Adrian said.
That made her pause.
“You know,” she repeated.
“I know you don’t understand what’s happening,” he said. “That matters.”
Hannah folded her arms. “You’re speaking in riddles again. I charge extra for those.”
He reached into his coat pocket.
Hannah stiffened.
He placed something on the bar between them.
A coin.
She stared at it.
Then at him.
“No,” she said firmly.
Adrian blinked. “No?”
“You don’t get to put ominous objects on my bar,” Hannah said. “This is a licensed establishment.”
“It’s not ominous,” he said.
“That’s exactly what ominous things say.”
The coin gave a faint, low hum.
Hannah felt it in her chest, like a second heartbeat syncing to her own.
She swallowed. “I didn’t touch it.”
“I know,” Adrian said.
His attention sharpened—not excitement, not triumph. Concern.
Before either of them could speak, the bell chimed again.
The night walked in smiling.
The man who entered did not blend.
He didn’t carry stillness like Adrian. He carried warmth. Presence. Confidence that filled space without asking permission. His coat was tailored, his posture relaxed, his smile already halfway to charming someone out of their better judgment.
His gaze swept the bar—and locked onto Adrian.
“There you are,” he said pleasantly.
Hannah’s instincts flared.
Not fear.
Predator with manners.
He slid onto the stool beside Adrian without asking, elbow resting casually on the bar like he owned it.
“And you must be Hannah,” he said, eyes flicking to her name tag. “Sebastian.”
She stared at him. “Do men usually introduce themselves like I requested it?”
Sebastian laughed, bright and easy. “Only the interesting ones.”
Hannah turned her deadpan stare on Adrian. “You travel in packs?”
“Yes,” Adrian said flatly.
Sebastian grinned. “We’re a matched set.”
“I hate that,” Hannah said immediately.
Sebastian leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Most people do. Eventually.”
Hannah’s mouth twisted. “You’re very confident for someone sitting at my bar without ordering.”
“Ah,” Sebastian said, delighted. “Dealer’s choice. Surprise me.”
Hannah poured him a whiskey she instinctively knew he’d like and slid it over. He lifted it, inhaled, smiled wider.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re dangerous.”
“Thank you,” Hannah replied. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today.”
Sebastian’s gaze dropped to the coin.
His smile sharpened.
“Well,” he murmured. “That explains the tug.”
Hannah’s pulse jumped. “The what.”
Sebastian leaned in—not invasive, just enough to feel intentional. His eyes weren’t on the bar. Not on the coin.
They were on her.
“You don’t feel like a place,” he said thoughtfully. “You feel like a presence.”
Hannah blinked. “I am standing right here.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Sebastian.”
“What?” Sebastian said innocently. “I’m complimenting her.”
“That was not a compliment,” Hannah said.
Sebastian smiled wider. “I disagree.”
The coin vibrated again—stronger this time.
Hannah felt it answer her.
Not the bar.
Not the building.
Her.
She stepped back instinctively. “Okay. I didn’t do anything.”
“I know,” Adrian said—but this time his certainty wavered.
Sebastian tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “You’re not causing it,” he said slowly. “But it definitely likes you.”
Hannah laughed weakly. “Fantastic. I’ve always wanted to be emotionally validated by loose change.”
Adrian closed his hand over the coin.
The vibration stopped.
The pressure eased immediately.
Hannah stared at her hands, heart racing. “I need you both to explain why objects are flirting with me.”
Sebastian’s smile turned wicked. “I'm Jealous ”
Adrian shot him a look. “Enough.”
Sebastian held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll behave.”
He rose smoothly, draining his glass. “We’ll let you work.”
Adrian lingered, eyes unreadable. “Be careful,” he said.
Hannah snorted. “That’s vague.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But sincere.”
They left together.
The bell chimed.
The bar filled with noise again like nothing had happened.
Hannah stood there, staring at the spot where the coin had been.
Jessa appeared beside her. “So,” she said carefully. “Am I allowed to ask why those two looked like they were discussing murder?”
Hannah swallowed.
Then said, “Apparently I’m… noticeable.”
Jessa frowned. “I hate that for you.”
Hannah did too.
- Writer
