“Are there any orders left?” she asked as she carried a tray. Emma, who had been asked, looked slightly startled. Yes. She had spaced out again. Vivian honestly wanted to ask her friend what was wrong.
“Yeah. For delivery.”
Vivian nodded in understanding, though she was still uncertain about that expression.
—After a while, Vivian took a break, wanting to find out whether her best friend was dealing with some kind of problem.
Not long after, Emma came and walked toward the place they had chosen. Vivian was waiting there, leaning against the wall. When Emma noticed her, she smiled. “The shop’s busy as usual today, huh? You must be tired too, Vivian.”
Vivian’s shoulder rested against the wall. She smiled briefly before folding her arms and looking into her friend’s eyes. “Emma. Um… I wanted to know, is something bothering you today?”
“No. I’m just a little tired, that’s all,” Emma said, followed by Vivian’s nod.
The girl honestly felt that something was being hidden from her. But she didn’t want to interfere or rely solely on the few bad suspicions she had.
At least Emma wasn’t crying or anything that would make her worry too much. Saying that she was tired was enough. It was all right. Maybe Emma would open up to her more another time.
“All right. If you want to talk about it, just tell me. I’ll listen.”
Emma, the short-haired girl, smiled at Vivian’s support. Vivian would likely keep offering her advice if Emma needed it. Vivian then invited Emma to get back to work.
A thin fog suddenly hung in the morning air of London, blanketing the streets like a secret not yet ready to be revealed. The aroma of hot coffee welcomed her back, a contrast to the gray sky.
She straightened her apron and began serving customers. Her life was simple: attending college during the day, working mornings and nights, then returning to the small apartment where she lived with shadows from the past she could not fully remember.
Her parents had died when she was little. An accident. That was the only fragment of memory her older brother repeated over and over. She and her older brother had survived—that was what mattered most, he said. And Vivian believed him.
Ding ding!
Vivian looked up. “Welcome!”
A man entered with calm, measured steps. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a long black coat that looked far too expensive for this little café. His handsome face had sharp features, and his dark gray eyes were cold—as if he could assess the entire room with a single glance.
His sharp gaze fixed on her. Vivian swallowed unconsciously. “How can I help you?” she asked as the man approached the counter.
“Black coffee,” he answered curtly. His voice was low and flat. “No sugar.”
Vivian nodded. “Name?”
The man fell silent for a fraction of a second.
“Asher.”
He said the name in a flat, ordinary tone, yet the air around him felt heavy. Vivian felt as though she were choking, though she didn’t know why. She sensed a predator’s aura she still didn’t understand. Slowly, that aura brushed against her subconscious instincts about the past.
As Vivian wrote down the order, she didn’t realize that behind Asher’s calm expression, his thoughts were in turmoil. Vivian Wood. That name was no longer merely a report file or a blurry photograph from the past. She was real. Breathing. Smiling.
Asher sat in the corner of the café, his back straight, his eyes following Vivian’s every movement. The way she smiled at other customers. The way she slightly furrowed her brow while counting change. Too… normal.
His hand slowly curled into a fist. Asher remembered nights filled with blood, screams, and fire. An accident that had never truly been an accident to him. And a little girl who should not have survived.
Yet she was here.
Alive.