Chapter 2
1021 Words
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks." Casey handed over her loyalty card, still distracted by the strange man. "Double shot today, please. Covering Mika's shift."
"Rough," Prisha sympathised, punching in the order. "Hey, did you ever finish that dragon book you were working on? My niece is obsessed with dragons lately."
Casey's attention snapped back. "Still working on it. Turns out writing a novel while working at fast food isn't the productivity hack they advertise."
"Well, when you're famous, I'll tell everyone you used to order vanilla lattes here," Prisha grinned, sliding the coffee across the counter.
Casey arrived at Burger Blast with five minutes to spare, nodding to Tomas, who looked relieved to see her.
"Thank god you're covering," he said, already untying his apron. "Saturday morning rush is about to start and we don’t have a moment to lose.”
"No problem," Casey said, tying on her apron and checking that the register was properly stocked with receipt paper. "Mika feeling better?"
"She texted that she's surviving on heating pads and Netflix," Tomas replied, grabbing his jacket from the back hook. "Oh, and heads up—we got a new shipment of those specialty burger boxes this morning. The ones with the weird metallic finish? Corporate's pushing them hard, but they feel... I dunno, expensive for fast food."
Casey glanced at the stack of boxes Tomas pointed to. They gleamed with the same iridescent quality as the building's exterior panels, covered in an intricate pattern that looked almost like... currency designs. Geometric shapes that seemed to shift when she moved her head.
"Huh. Fancy," she managed, though something about the boxes made her stomach flutter with inexplicable nervousness.
"Right? Anyway, you're good to go. Have fun with the breakfast crowd." Tomas headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and if that guy in the suit comes back asking about 'heritage menu items' again, just tell him we only serve what's on the board. He was here yesterday asking weird questions about our 'traditional preparation methods' or something."
Casey's hand froze on the register keys. "Tall guy? Sharp features?"
"Yeah, you know him?"
"No," she said quickly. "Just... thought I saw someone like that by the fountain earlier."
Tomas shrugged and left, and Casey found herself alone with the breakfast prep and an increasingly uncomfortable feeling that her ordinary Saturday shift was about to become anything but ordinary.
The first wave of customers arrived right on schedule—joggers wanting protein smoothies, families grabbing quick breakfast before shopping, and the usual assortment of caffeine-dependent humans who treated Saturday morning like a personal emergency.
Casey fell into the familiar rhythm of taking orders, calling them back to the kitchen, and making change. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Every time she glanced up from the register, she caught glimpses of people who seemed to be paying more attention to her than to their food.
A woman with silver-streaked hair ordered a coffee but spent more time studying Casey's face than reading the menu. A teenager asked for extra napkins but his eyes kept flicking to the stack of metallic boxes behind the counter. Even the businessman who ordered a breakfast sandwich seemed to linger longer than necessary, as if waiting for Casey to say something specific.
By noon, her nerves were frayed and her imagination was running wild. This was what happened when she didn't get enough sleep—everything started feeling like a conspiracy.
Then the man from the fountain walked in.
His eyes met hers immediately, as if he'd known exactly where she would be standing. Up close, she could see the sharp angles of his face, the perfect precision of his suit—not a wrinkle in sight despite the October breeze outside. But it was his eyes that held her attention. Dark at first glance, but when the overhead lights caught them just right, they flashed that impossible gold again.
Not a reflection, then.
"Welcome to Burger Blast," Casey said, the words automatic while her mind raced. "Can I take your order?"
The man approached the counter with deliberate steps. "I believe you have something I've been looking for."
Casey's fingers hovered over the register keys. "We have a limited breakfast menu until 2 PM, but I can—"
"No," he cut in smoothly. "Not food. Something more... valuable." His gaze flicked to her name tag. "Casey Ember-Brooks."
The way he said her full name—including her hyphenated surname that wasn't on her tag—sent a cold ripple down her spine.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
The man smiled, a tight, controlled expression. "Not yet. My name is Marcus Chen." He lowered his voice. "And I believe you've been dreaming about dragon coins."
Casey's coffee cup slipped from her hand, splashing across the counter. "What—how did you—"
"Careful," Marcus said, reaching out with impossible speed to catch her cup before it hit the floor. His sleeve pulled back slightly, revealing what looked like scales—actual golden scales—at his wrist.
Casey stared, her world tilting sideways.
"Your shift ends at 4 PM," Marcus continued, placing the cup carefully on the counter. "Meet me at the Dual-Flow Fountain afterward. We have much to discuss about your... novel."
Before she could respond, the door chimed again as an elderly man with a wooden cane entered. Casey glanced toward him automatically, customer service reflexes kicking in despite her shock.
When she looked back, Marcus was already halfway to the door, moving with that same unsettling precision. He paused only to exchange a loaded glance with the newcomer, a flash of recognition and tension passing between them.
The elderly man watched Marcus leave, then turned to Casey with a pleasant smile that didn't reach his cold bronze eyes.
"Good afternoon," he said, his voice cultured with a faint accent she couldn't place. "I understand you serve a special house blend here. Something with... traditional ingredients?"
Casey's mouth went dry. Two strange men asking about non-existent menu items in one day?
- Writer
