2

I froze, my smile faltering as I met the gaze of my silver-haired customer. All my life, I had mastered the art of concealing my emotions, never letting my guard slip—especially not in front of men. I was always composed, indifferent to their words or appearances. But this man… he unsettled me. It was as though he could see straight through the walls I had meticulously built, and that thought alone terrified me.

"I'll get your coffee," I said, forcing a semblance of calmness as I turned toward the counter. "Espresso? Black?" I tossed the question over my shoulder, hoping to mask my unease.

"As long as you make it," he replied with a soft chuckle.

A flicker of irritation rose in me at his flirtation, but it did little to stop the heat creeping into my cheeks. "What is wrong with me?" I muttered under my breath, flustered by my own reaction. Normally, I would have brushed off such comments without a second thought—perhaps even put the man in his place if I were having a bad day. But now? I was blushing like some infatuated fool.

Keeping my back to him, I busied myself at the bar, determined not to meet his eyes. Yet, I couldn’t shake the sensation of his gaze fixed on me, as though he were studying every inch of my being. My hands trembled as I reached for a cup, nearly letting it slip through my fingers.

"Pull yourself together, Thalassa," I muttered under my breath, steadying my grip. I glanced toward Naia, who was too preoccupied refilling Sylas and Rowan’s coffee to notice my clumsiness. When she finally caught my eye, she smirked and gave me a conspiratorial wink.

“Go for it,” she whispered, her gaze darting toward the silver-haired man.

Ignoring her, I focused on preparing the coffee. I moistened the paper filter, added the freshly ground coffee, and began brewing. The rich, dark liquid streamed into the cup, and once it was ready, I carried it to his table, careful not to look directly at him.

"Your coffee, sir," I said, setting the cup down with practiced precision.

"Do I offend you?" His voice was smooth, the kind that lingered like the last note of a melody.

"N-not at all!" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes locking onto mine with a penetrating intensity. My pulse quickened, and I instinctively stepped back, putting distance between us.

"Thank you for the coffee… Thalassa," he said, his gaze dropping briefly to the name tag on my shirt.

"Enjoy your coffee," I mumbled, retreating behind the counter as quickly as I could.

Something about the way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. It felt… familiar, as if he’d known me long before this moment. Anxiety stirred within me.

"Could he be one of them?" The thought struck me like a thunderclap. "No," I reassured myself. "He doesn’t smell like them. I’d know if he were."

Still, I couldn’t shake the unease. I adjusted my gloves nervously, then busied myself clearing the counter.

"Thalassa, Kael asked about you again," Rowan called out, his voice laced with amusement. "Why don’t you give the poor guy a chance?"

"Let’s just say Kael isn’t my type," I replied with a smirk, tossing a stack of used napkins into the trash.

Rowan chuckled and reached across the counter, grabbing my wrist.

“Come on, Thalassa. If he’s not your type, maybe I am.” His grin widened, and his eyes raked over me in a way that made my skin crawl.

"Let go, Rowan," I said, my voice sharp.

"Don’t be like that," he coaxed, tightening his grip. "You should have some fun for once."

"I said no!" With a sharp tug, I wrenched my hand free.

Rowan leaned forward, attempting to grab me again, but lost his balance and slammed into the bar. Glasses and an empty coffee pot crashed to the floor, shattering on impact. I felt a sharp sting as a shard of glass sliced into my arm.

“Thalassa!” Naia was at my side in an instant, grabbing my injured hand.

“I’ll handle it,” I snapped, pulling away and reaching for the first aid kit.

Naia hesitated, her expression a mixture of concern and hurt. “Fine,” she said, stepping back.

As I hastily bandaged my wound, my mind raced. "Don’t let them smell my blood. Please, don’t let them smell my blood," I silently pleaded.

It wasn’t until the commotion had settled that I remembered the silver-haired customer. Turning toward his table, I found it empty. He was gone.

All that remained was a single hundred-dollar bill beside his barely-touched coffee.

"Guess he didn’t like my coffee after all," I muttered, pocketing the money. "At least he’s generous."

The rest of the night passed in a blur of sweeping glass and cleaning the mess Rowan had made. By the time we closed, the rain had finally stopped. Yet, as I locked the door, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

Then, it happened.

The howling—a sound I’d prayed never to hear again—echoed in the distance.

They had found me.