THE NEXT MORNING
ISABELLA
The morning light spilled through my bedroom window in soft, lazy streams, brushing over my clothes neatly laid out on the bed. I tugged at the hem of my blouse, adjusting it for what felt like the hundredth time, though the reflection in the mirror told me it was fine. My hands were jittery, despite the careful rhythm of my routine coffee brewing, with the bag packed and shoes lined up. A nervous excitement fluttered low in my stomach. The procedure was days away now, and every moment felt suspended between 'ready' and 'what if'.
I stepped out into the crisp air, the streets of the Sanctuary quieter than usual, the golden morning light making the familiar corners of the town feel almost cinematic. The cafe was my first stop, a little ritual I allowed myself, black coffee, croissant, a few minutes to breathe before the day fully demanded my attention. Sliding open the door, the bell tinkled above me, and a familiar scent of freshly baked bread and roasted beans wrapped around me like an old, comforting blanket. I smiled at the barista, nodded at the few early risers scattered across the small tables, and turned toward the counter to grab my usual. Then I saw her.
The same woman who had suggested the clinic the first time I wandered into this cafe, months ago, her presence strange and precise, as though she existed slightly out of time. She sat in the corner by the window, hands folded neatly in front of her, her eyes lifting briefly to meet mine. A flicker of recognition passed between us, and for a moment my stomach clenched. I paused, mid step, coffee cup still in hand, and studied her. She hadn't changed much, still the same calm, observant demeanour, the subtle confidence in the tilt of her head, the quiet way she surveyed the room like it belonged to her even if it didn't. My mind immediately pinged with questions. Why was she here again? Was it a coincidence or something more deliberate? I tried to shake the unease, telling myself it was just a cafe, just a town, just routine intersecting, but as I moved toward a free table, her eyes followed me, unwavering, as if she were checking me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Sitting down, I set my coffee beside me, fingers curling around the warm cup, and tried to focus on something mundane the soft hum of conversation, the clink of porcelain, the rich aroma of espresso, but it was impossible to ignore her. She hadn't moved, hadn't gestured, hadn't smiled. Just watched. And yet, in the way she sat, poised and quiet, it felt deliberate, calculated even. My mind wandered to Mercer's words, the procedure, the donor, all the swirling anxieties I tried to keep contained. And now, this woman, the same one who had nudged me toward that clinic, toward all of it was here again. Watching. Maybe waiting. Or maybe a warning. I sipped my coffee, careful not to spill the liquid warmth that anchored me, and tried to steady my heartbeat.
"Strange, isn't it?" I murmured under my breath. "Seeing the same face… twice."
The woman's lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly, but her eyes didn't waver. Then she looked down at the book in front of her, flipping a page as if our silent exchange had never happened. I exhaled slowly, tension coiling in my chest, and reminded myself that this town was small. People repeated, paths crossed. Coincidence was inevitable. And yet… my instincts, which rarely lied, whispered otherwise. I couldn't shake the feeling that today's coffee run was no longer just about coffee. It was about observation. It was about choices. And somehow, I knew my next step whatever it might be, was being watched.
I took a deep breath, set my coffee down with deliberate calm, and stood. Every instinct in my body told me to approach her slowly, measure my words, but my curiosity, and something deeper, something like a prickling warning pushed me forward.
"Ms. Callahan?" I asked, my voice firmer than I expected. She looked up from her book, eyes narrowing slightly as if she had been expecting me.
"Yes?" Her tone was polite but laced with curiosity.
"I… I remember you." I started, then paused. "From the cafe… the first time I came here. You suggested… the clinic." My words stumbled over themselves, uncharacteristic for me. "Why? Why did you point me there?"
Callahan's lips curved into that faint, knowing smile, like she'd been waiting for this question all along.
"Isabella." She said, her voice soft but layered with something almost predatory. "Sometimes people need a little guidance. You seemed… uncertain. Vulnerable."
I felt heat rising in my chest.
"Guidance? Or manipulation?" I pressed. "Was this… all deliberate? Did you know what would happen?"
Her gaze flickered, just for a fraction of a second, and I thought I saw approval there or perhaps amusement.
"Let's just say I steer, I don't dictate. But I choose carefully."She said.
"You know… Xavier would never let someone just… manipulate me like that."I muttered.
Her eyes widened slightly, a hint of mischief or perhaps recognition flashing across her face.
My cheeks instantly burned at the involuntary mention of his name. Xavier. Even saying it aloud made my chest tighten and my pulse spike, a mix of warmth and nerves that made me feel suddenly… exposed. Callahan tilted her head, studying me.
"Ah. Xavier Stoneheart." She murmured, like tasting a word before deciding if it was worth keeping. "So that's the reason you blush so easily."
My eyes widened.
"I… I don't-"I started.
She cut me off with a faint, knowing smile.
"Relax, Isabella. I'm not here to embarrass you. But you're far more transparent than you think."She said.
I opened my mouth, ready to respond, when a subtle chill ran down my spine. Something felt… off. A presence. My gaze flicked to the window behind her, through the blinds. There, leaning casually against the corner of the building outside, eyes hidden behind dark shades, was Xavier. He didn't move, didn't signal, just watched. Every instinct screamed both relief and warning. Relief because he was here, watching, protecting in his silent, unmistakable way. Warning because Callahan didn't seem fazed by him, didn't even seem to notice. I felt a sudden surge of boldness and embarrassment mixing in equal measure.
"You see him?" I asked Callahan, more to myself than anyone else.
Callahan only smiled faintly, closing her book with deliberate grace.
"Careful, Isabella. Some people notice more than you think. Others… just watch."She said.
I felt my stomach knot. Xavier's presence anchored me, yet made my cheeks hotter than ever. I wasn't sure if I was terrified or thrilled, or some messy, chaotic combination of both. Callahan's eyes lingered on me, sharp and calculating, before she leaned back slightly.
"I'll let you enjoy your coffee. But remember this, paths cross for a reason. And some observers… wait in the shadows."Callahan said.
I nodded, clutching my cup like it was a lifeline, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts. Xavier, just beyond the glass, gave no sign of moving, but the weight of his gaze was unmistakable. Protectively watchful, impossibly calm, and somehow making my blush worse than it already was. I turned back to Callahan, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
"Next time." I said, voice steadier than I felt. "I'll ask before I follow advice from strangers."
Callahan's smile didn't falter.
"Next time, Isabella… there may not be a choice."She grinned.
And then, without another word, she returned to her book, leaving me with the taste of unease, and Xavier, silently observing it all.