On my way to the café, I walked past a bus stop. A group of teenage girls stood there, whispering behind their hands, sneaking glances at me.
"He's ridiculously good-looking," one gasped.
I sighed. Teenagers. Too predictable. Too easily fooled by appearances. Hopefully, time would teach them to look deeper.
Indeed, kitsunes are endowed with super-sharp hearing. But on some days, I'm not entirely sure I want to listen to teenage gossip.
At least I know one thing that always meets my sharpened senses perfectly.
Coffee.
At Ashwood Café, the bell chimed as I stepped inside, warm light spilling over polished tables, the espresso machine hissing like a contented creature. Behind the counter, the elderly barista looked up, smiling in recognition.
"Elis," she chimed. "Perfect timing. New batch."
I returned the smile and slid a fifty across the counter. "Keep the change, Gertrude."
I took my usual seat by the window while she prepared my coffee—Ethiopian beans with a hint of berry aftertaste, roasted to perfection.
Through the glass, I watched the town pretend it wasn't bordered by something older than memory. Humans hurried past, faces intent, lives compressed into schedules and glowing screens. I didn't like their greed, but their urgency—and addiction to devices—fascinated me.
Gertrude placed the steaming cup in front of me, chuckling. "With all the tips you've given me over the past decade, I could open a new diner."
"Would you want that?" I asked, grinning.
Before she could answer, a cab screeched to a halt outside, shattering the calm.
Gertrude sighed, mildly annoyed. "Looks like I've got my work cut out for me. Excuse me."
She stepped away. I nodded.
I sipped my coffee. It was exactly as I remembered it. Perfect. It hit every note right. Consistent.
A woman dashed out of the cab—a brunette, neatly dressed, phone pressed to her ear. Her movements were sharp, efficient. Strained.
Typical city folk.
"Yes, I know," she said briskly. "I'm getting the coffee now. Yes, I'm at the café you specified."
Her face turned toward the window.
I recognized her immediately.
My jaw dropped.
It's her.
She entered with purpose, clutching a long list of orders. Gertrude took it silently.
"Name?"
"Everlyn," she said, stuffing her phone into her bag.
"Everlyn," I murmured under my breath. "What happened to you?"
She paced, heels clicking, tension radiating off her like heat. The scent of frustration was almost as strong as the coffee.
Gertrude handed over the tray. Everlyn exhaled. "That's what I get for being at the bottom of the chain," she muttered.
I rose and slipped out unnoticed, settling into the waiting cab.
Yes, I stole her cab.
I needed to meet her again.
If I didn't, she wouldn't notice me.
I asked the driver to drive very slowly.
Soon enough—a heartbeat later—
"Wait! Hey!"
Everlyn burst onto the sidewalk, waving wildly, coffee sloshing dangerously. The cab began to pull away.
I lifted a finger. "Stop."
The driver obeyed.
Everlyn yanked the door open, anger blazing—then faltered as she met my eyes and my infuriatingly calm smile. Words evaporated.
I realized then that I tend to have that effect on people.
To think it worked on her too.
"City?" I asked mildly. "It may take a while before another cab comes. That coffee order looks heavy. Want to share the ride?"
She hesitated, scowled, then sighed as she hugged her crate of coffee and slid into the cab.
As the cab merged into traffic, Everlyn's eyes flicked to me again. Something about my calm, precise gaze unsettled her—like I had memorized every corner of the street.
Which, admittedly, I had.
I noticed her unease. The slight shift in her expression. Like she couldn't place it, but it made her pulse quicken.
"You keep staring," she said finally, turning toward me briefly before looking away, avoiding eye contact.
"Oh?" I tilted my smile, hiding my real thoughts. "You just seemed a little frazzled. Everything all right?"
She huffed. "I'm just tired."
"So… 'just tired,'" I echoed lightly. "Where are you headed in such a hurry?"
"No—my name isn't 'Just Tired.' It's Everlyn." She paused, then let out a soft chuckle.
"Elis," I replied casually—though I wasn't.
I watched closely, searching her face for recognition as she repeated it softly. "Elis… not a common one. Sounds almost… ethereal."
"Does it?" I turned to the window, thoughtful. "Don't you remember anyone with that name?"
"I'm not sure… at least not since my accident," she added, glancing at me again, studying my angles like they meant something. Then she shook her head. "Why am I telling you this?"
I said nothing.
How do you tell someone you've been looking for all these years—and now they're sitting beside you?
"So," she continued, filling the silence, "what brings you to the city?"
"I'm exploring," I replied nonchalantly. "Observing."
"Observing what?"
"People. Behavior." My teeth may have flashed briefly—too sharp, she probably thought, and dismissed. "The ordinary."
A chill brushed her spine.
I noticed.
I always notice.
The cab slowed before a towering glass building. ELIMINATION COMPANY gleamed above the entrance.
"My stop," she said, tightening her grip on the tray. "Thanks."
I studied the building, eyes narrowing. "Interesting place."
"You have no idea," she grimaced, flinging the door open.
"Wait—how do I pay you back?" she asked, turning around.
But the cab was already pulling away.
Silly Everlyn. I should be paying you back for everything.
And now this is where you work?
Not many people know what the Elimination Company does—but I do. A magical enforcement firm that keeps the supernatural in check.
Looks like she's already walking toward her destiny.
Interesting indeed.
"You're covering her fare as well?" the driver asked hesitantly, interrupting my thoughts.
"Payment isn't an issue," I said lazily. "Just take me to the edge of Ashwood City as agreed."
The driver nodded and continued driving as I watched the city unfold, a slow, knowing smile returning to my lips.
There was something for everyone in Ashwood—beasts and humans alike.
I will see her again.
I feel it in my gut.