Page 54 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
The man takes his coffee to a corner table and opens a laptop. Just a new customer looking for free Wi-Fi, I tell myself. Nothing more.
Still, I find myself making excuses to stay in the front of the café rather than retreating to my office to do paperwork. I wipe down already clean tables, rearrange pastries that don’t need rearranging, refill salt shakers that are still half full.
When the man finally leaves an hour later, I feel my shoulders relax.
“You okay?” Margo asks, appearing at my elbow with uncanny timing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or worse—a customer who asked for a cappuccino with no foam.”
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t look convinced. “That would explain why you’ve been polishing that same spot on the counter for five minutes straight.”
I glance down, realizing she’s not kidding. “I like to be thorough.”
“Right.” She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. That’s one of the things I appreciate about Margo—she notices everything but respects boundaries. “Anyway, I need tomorrow morning off. My cat has a therapy appointment.”
“Your cat has a therapist?”
“Dr. Whiskers has anxiety issues. She’s very sensitive.” Margo says this with such a straight face that I can’t tell if she’s joking. With her, it could go either way.
“Of course she is. Tomorrow morning is fine,” I say, grateful for the distraction. “I’m sure Dylan or Olivia can cover your shift.”
The rest of the day passes without incident. The lunch crowd comes and goes, followed by the mid-afternoon lull. I use the quiet time to balance the books in my office, a small space carved out of what was once a storage area. It’s hardly bigger than a broom closet, but I’ve made it cozy with a small desk and a comfortable couch.
The security monitors show nothing unusual—just people going about their day, entering and leaving the café, walking past on the sidewalk outside. No one lingering, no one watching. So, it was just my imagination getting the better of me again.By closing time, I’ve almost convinced myself that the man from earlier was simply another customer. Almost.
As Olivia heads out, I lock the door behind her, flip the sign to “Closed,” and begin the nightly ritual of shutting down the café. I wipe down tables, stack chairs, clean the espresso machine one last time. Margo left an hour ago, claiming a date with her Netflix queue and a pint of ice cream.
Alone in the quiet café, I finally allow myself to relax. The tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders eases as I put on music—something classical and soothing—and finish the closing tasks.
A cough builds in my chest, and I know what’s coming. I make it to the bathroom just in time, leaning over the sink as the familiar, metallic taste fills my mouth. When I look down, splatters of bright red stain the white porcelain.
It’s not as bad as it used to be. The episodes come less frequently now, maybe once a week instead of daily. The amount of blood is less, too.
I rinse my mouth, clean the sink, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My face is thinner than it was at the palace, but healthier somehow. There’s color in my cheeks, a brightness in my eyes that was missing before. The dark hair still surprises me sometimes—I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in a window or mirror and momentarily wonder who that stranger is.
But I like this new me, this version of Fiona who runs a café, makes decisions without fear, and sometimes goes skydiving or rock climbing on her days off because the rush of adrenaline makes her feel alive in ways that nothing else quite does.
I lock up the bathroom and head upstairs to my apartment. It’s small, but it’s perfect. It has an open floor plan, with a kitchen along one wall, a cozy living room space dominated by bookshelves, and two bedrooms and a bathroom tucked in theback. Large windows let in plenty of light during the day and offer a view of the street below at night.
This evening, I make myself a simple dinner—pasta with vegetables and garlic bread—and settle on my couch with a new book. But my mind keeps drifting from the pages, returning to that unsettled feeling from earlier. To the man who watched me with too much interest.
After an hour of reading the same page over and over, I give up and go to the security monitors I’ve set up in a corner of my living room. I rewind the footage, studying—again—every person who entered the café today, paying special attention to the man who triggered my suspicions.
Nothing seems obviously wrong. He ordered coffee, used his laptop, left. But something about his movements still bothers me—they’re too deliberate, too aware.
I check the live feeds from the exterior cameras next, looking for any sign that someone might be watching the café. The street is mostly empty now, only the occasional car passing by and a few people walking dogs or heading home from late shifts.
Wait. I rewind and watch a figure across the street. The person is standing in a doorway, partially obscured by shadows, but definitely looking toward my building. I zoom in as much as the camera allows, but the image becomes too grainy to make out any features.
My heart rate picks up. I continue watching as the figure eventually steps out of the doorway and walks away, disappearing from the camera’s view.
I check the time stamp—the person was there for twenty minutes.
It’s nothing, I tell myself. Just someone waiting for a ride, or a friend, or killing time before meeting someone. But the knot in my stomach says otherwise.
I go to my bedroom and open the small safe hidden in the closet. Inside is the silver pendant Griffin gave me—the one that will summon help if I break it in half. I’ve never used it, never been tempted to. Until now.
But what would I say? That I have a bad feeling? That someone might be watching me? It’s hardly an emergency. Besides, breaking the connection to my old life was my choice. I can’t go running back at the first sign of trouble that may not even be real.
