Aleksander and Wednesday arrived at Weathervane, the café and bakery tucked at the corner where Jericho's main street met the square. The soft bustle of locals filled the space, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries drifting in the air.
Aleksander paused outside and nodded toward the window. "It's popular with the locals and students. Not many other places like it in town."
Wednesday tilted her head, her tone flat but direct. "My intuition says you brought me here for a reason."
Aleksander handed Wednesday his phone. "You want to meet our killer Hyde."
She scanned the screen—Tyler Galpin's profile. Details about his mother, Francoise Sylvanne Galpin, once a Hyde at Nevermore, flashed on the display."So, you think he's a Hyde too?"
Wednesday asked, voice steady but probing.
Aleksander nodded. "Hydes stay dormant until a traumatic trigger—or inducement—unleashes them. They form intense bonds with whoever sets them free. I'd bet Marilyn Thornhill, or Laurel Gates, found Tyler and woke his Hyde. Now, she's his master."
Wednesday absorbed the information, expression unchanged. "It's a theory. But a plausible one."
Inside, it didn't take long to spot Tyler behind the counter—light brown hair, green eyes, and a muscular build, blending into his role as the mild-mannered barista.
He greeted customers with friendly smiles, but Aleksander's senses caught more than the mask.Beneath Tyler's calm exterior, Aleksander felt a pulse of suppressed rage—anger deep and volatile, flaring toward violence if provoked. Humanity battled the beast within: confusion, fear, and loneliness shadowed moments of normalcy. Images and feelings surfaced—a mother's loss, abandonment, chaotic urges fighting for control. Mental turbulence bled through, fragmented thoughts flashing between pain and predatory focus.
Every gesture Tyler made seemed practiced, yet Aleksander could sense the tension—like a storm held barely at bay.
Aleksander leaned closer to Wednesday and whispered, "Do you think I should probe him?"
Wednesday's expression was cool, focused. "I think it's best for me to deal with him."
As they approached the counter, Aleksander picked up a ripple of recognition from Tyler's emotions—sharp, alert, tinged with caution. Aleksander was sure Marilyn Thornhill had warned Tyler about both of them.
"Holy crap! Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?" Tyler said, trying to play off his nerves.
"It's more of a hobby," Wednesday replied, her tone flat but unbothered.
Tyler's eyes flicked to their uniforms. "You go to Nevermore. Didn't realize they changed the uniform."
"I need a quad over ice," Wednesday said, straightforward and brisk. "It's an emergency."
Tyler raised a brow. "Four shots of espresso. Yeah, I know what a quad is, but spoiler alert—the espresso machine's having a seizure, so all we have is drip."
Wednesday fixed him with a blank stare. "Drip is for people who hate themselves and know their lives have no real purpose or meaning."
Tyler suppressed a grin.
Wednesday questioned."What's wrong with your machine?"
Tyler answered."It's a temperamental beast with a mind of its own. And it doesn't help the instructions are in Italian."
Wednesday walked into the counter and opened the Expresso machine and continued."I need a tri-wing screwdriver and a four-millimeter Allen wrench."
Tyler raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you read Italian?"
"Of course. It's the native tongue of Machiavelli." She kept her gaze steady, then cut straight to the deal: "I fix your coffee machine, you make my coffee and become our local guide."
Wednesday started fixing the expresso machine.
Tyler, still playing the part, nodded. "I'm Tyler, by the way. Didn't catch your name, or is that on a need-to-know basis too?"
"Wednesday." she replied.
Tyler glanced at the café clock. "Uh, but I don't get off for another hour."
Wednesday nodded and joined Aleksander at the table, her steps unhurried, eyes still tracking Tyler as she sat down across from him.
"He was eager to take the bait," she said, voice low and matter-of-fact.
Aleksander's gaze stayed on Tyler behind the counter, watching the careful smile and practiced movements. "Eager," he agreed, "and a little too pleased with himself."
Tyler turned away to wipe down the machine, and for a moment his expression hardened—
his pleasant mask slipped for only a second—malice flickered behind his eyes.
Aleksander nodded, eyes tracking Tyler as he went about his work behind the counter. His gaze caught the brief shift in Tyler's demeanor—the polite smile slipping just enough to reveal a flash of malice, something dark simmering beneath the surface.Tyler had been manipulated and broken down through Marilyn Thornhill's twisted cocktail of brainwashing and torment. His Hyde nature had taken deeper root, shaping him into a sadistic, goal-driven force—hungry for control, cold to the lives shattered along the way. Though he resented being a pawn in Thornhill's larger scheme, he relished the chaos and destruction he was allowed to inflict.
He believed himself to be top of the food chain. But then Tyler had the misfortune of running into a small blue midget—an unforgiving creature who beat him mercilessly. This encounter left Tyler beaten and bruised, a rare moment of vulnerability in his otherwise dangerous arrogance.
Further complicating his mindset, Thornhill had fed him information about Aleksander Morozova and Wednesday, painting them as formidable threats. Tyler initially scoffed, fueled by his Hyde pride, believing himself to be near the apex of power. He didn't see any threat—until the moment he saw Aleksander. Then instinct screamed: danger. His survival instincts screamed for flight.