Normal people living normal lives.
No threats. No secrets. No dark sedans watching from the shadows.
The latte arrives, and I wrap my hands around the warm cup, breathing in the sweet vanilla steam.
This was a good idea.
I needed this—a moment of normalcy in the chaos my life has become.
I'm just finishing my coffee, debating whether to order a second, when someone bumps into me from behind.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The woman is about my age, maybe a little older, with dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and sharp, angular features.
Pretty, in a severe kind of way—the kind of face that would look at home on a runway or in a boardroom. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"It's fine." I smile, sliding off my stool. "No harm done."
"Are you sure? I nearly knocked you over." She laughs, but there's something off about it. Something that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Can I buy you another coffee to make up for it?"
"That's really not necessary?—"
"I insist." She signals the barista before I can protest, her movements quick and decisive. "What were you having?"
"Vanilla latte. But really, you don't have to?—"
"It's the least I can do." She extends her hand, and her grip is firm when I shake it. Too firm. Like she's memorizing the feel of my palm. "I'm Sol, by the way."
Something about her makes me uneasy.
I can't put my finger on what—her smile is friendly enough, her tone perfectly pleasant.
But there's something in her eyes.
Something calculating.
Like she's studying me.
"Dalla," I say, pulling my hand back a little too quickly.
"Pretty name. Is it Scandinavian?"
"My parents have a thing for Norse mythology."
"How interesting." Her head tilts slightly, like a bird examining something curious. "I've always found Norse mythology fascinating. All those stories about fate and destiny. The idea that some things are just... meant to be."
The barista sets a fresh latte on the counter, and Sol pushes it toward me with a smile that makes my skin crawl.
"There you go. Peace offering."
"Thanks." I take the cup, suddenly eager to leave. "I should get going. It's late."
"Of course. Don't let me keep you." She steps back, but her eyes never leave my face. "It was nice meeting you, Dalla. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again."
There's something in the way she says it.
Not a hope. Not a prediction.
A promise.
