“Good thing I’m not here for the food.” She leans against the counter, one elbow propped casually like she’s settling in for a conversation.
Something about her sets my instincts on edge; I can’t put my finger on why. She doesn’t feel dangerous exactly—more like the kind of person who could be dangerous if they wanted to be.
“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“Maybe.” Her eyes flick over me again, slower this time. “You’re new.”
“To what?”
“To all of this.” She gestures vaguely at the room, the world beyond it. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re still figuring out which way is up.”
I don’t answer. Don’t know how to.
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. “What’s your name?”
“Seth.”
“Seth.” She repeats it like she’s tasting the word. “I like it. Simple. Strong.”
Before I can respond, the door to the back hallway opens.
Stellan appears in the doorway and freezes.
His entire demeanor shifts in a heartbeat—from casual to lethal, every line of his body going tense. His eyes lock onto the woman at the counter and his expression hardens into something cold and dangerous.
“Get the fuck away from him,” he says. His voice is calm, controlled, but there’s a razor’s edge underneath it.
The woman raises her hands slowly, smile never fading. “Easy, Stellan. I’m not here to start anything.”
“Then leave.”
“Can’t.” She straightens, pulling something from inside her jacket with slow, deliberate movements—a small silver coin that catches the light as she sets it on the counter between us.
It hums once. A sound I feel in my teeth more than hear.
“Tell your queen I’m here to talk,” she says, eyes still on Stellan. Then her gaze flicks back to me, just for a heartbeat, and her smile turns sharp. “Preferably before the others find out I came alone.”
The coin continues humming, faint but insistent, vibrating against the wood.
Stellan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
The silence stretches until Zira reappears from the back room, arms full of supplies. She stops dead when she sees the woman, her expression shifting from surprise to something darker.
“Nyx,” she says flatly.
The woman—Nyx—inclines her head slightly. “Zira. Still playing chef, I see.”
“Still playing games?” Zira sets the supplies down hard enough to rattle the counter. “What do you want?”
Nyx’s smile doesn’t waver. “Like I said. To talk.”
The coin hums again, louder this time.
The smell of coffee still hangs in the air, but the peace is gone.
Whatever we’d managed to find this morning just shattered.
Chapter 27
