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My hands shook while I tied the apron. Didn't sleep. Couldn't.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw that gray hood in my window. And Cole's face when he said Mom's nickname. The one she only used when it was just us. Bedtime. Bad dreams. The kind of thing you don't tell strangers.
But I needed this shift. Rent was due in six days and my viewer count wasn't gonna cover it.
"You good?" Dennis leaned against the espresso machine, arms crossed. He always got in an hour before open. Always watched me too close.
"Yeah." I pulled my hair back. "Just tired."
"Stayed up streaming?"
"Something like that."
He didn't push. That was the thing about Dennis—he asked once, then let it go. Made him the best boss I'd ever had. The shop was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and a nail salon on the east side. Regulars only. No foot traffic. I liked it that way.
I flipped the sign at six.
First hour was fine. Normal. Mrs. Pak got her oat milk latte. The construction guys ordered four drips, black, no room. A girl my age spent twenty minutes deciding between chai and matcha and finally left with water.
Then my hand started burning.
Not hot water burn. Not steam. Deeper. Under the skin. I gripped the counter and breathed through my nose.
"Ivy."
Dennis was staring.
"I'm fine." I grabbed the rag and wiped down the bar. The burning spread up my wrist. I clenched my jaw. Not here. Not now.
The bell over the door chimed.
I looked up.
Two people. A man and a woman. Both in gray hoodies. The woman pulled hers back and smiled at me.
She was maybe thirty. Blonde. Pretty in that sharp, cold way. Her eyes went straight to my hands.
"Morning." Her voice was light. Friendly. Wrong.
I forced my customer service smile. "What can I get you?"
"Two americanos. For here."
The man didn't say anything. He scanned the shop. Exits. Windows. Dennis.
My hand throbbed. I turned to the machine and started pulling shots. Focused on the routine. Tamp. Lock. Extract. The burn crawled up to my elbow now. I bit the inside of my cheek.
Don't look at them. Don't react.
But I could feel her watching me.
"You stream, right?" the woman said.
My stomach dropped. I kept my face blank. "Sorry?"
"Gaming. Horror stuff. I think I've seen your setup."
I set the cups down and met her eyes. "You've got me confused with someone else."
"Maybe." She smiled wider. Took her americano. Her fingers brushed mine.
The burning exploded.
I sucked in air through my teeth and pulled back. She didn't move. Just kept smiling.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Fine. That's eight fifty."
She tapped her card. The machine beeped. They took a table by the window.
I turned and gripped the counter so hard my knuckles went white. My whole arm felt like it was splitting open from the inside. I looked down.
My nails were longer.
Not by much. Maybe half a centimeter. But they were sharper. Darker.
No no no no—
"Ivy." Dennis was right behind me. Low voice. Calm. "Back room. Now."
"I can't. There's customers—"
"Now."
He stepped up to the bar. I stumbled into the back and shoved my hands under cold water. The burn didn't stop. My nails pressed against the steel sink. I heard them scrape.
I was shifting.
At work. In broad daylight. With hunters ten feet away.
I pressed my forehead against the wall and breathed. In. Out. In. The burn started to fade. Slowly. My nails shrank back. My hands stopped shaking.
When I came out Dennis was wiping down tables. The gray hoodies were gone.
"They left?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Five minutes ago." He didn't look at me. Just kept wiping. "You're off the floor. I'll handle the rest of the shift."
"Dennis—"
"Not asking."
I sat on the stool behind the register and watched him work. He moved steady. Unbothered. Like I hadn't just almost turned into something in his back room.
We closed at two.
I helped him wipe down the machines and mop the floor. He still wasn't talking. That scared me more than the people in gray.
When we finished he locked the door and flipped off the main lights. Then he pulled a folded photo from his wallet.
"I need you to look at something."
He set it on the counter.
It was old. Creased. The colors were faded but I could still make out the faces.
A woman holding a baby. She was laughing. Young. Her hair was longer than I remembered but I knew her face.
Mom.
The baby had to be me.
And standing next to her, one hand on her shoulder, was a man in his twenties. Blond. Smiling. Comfortable.
Cole.
I stared at the photo. My throat closed up.
"When—" I couldn't finish.
"Twenty-three years ago," Dennis said. "Before you were born. Your mom was part of something. So was Cole. So was I."
He pulled out another photo.
Same people. Different setting. They were standing in front of a building. Clean. Corporate. A logo on the glass behind them.
I couldn't read the company name but I could see the tagline underneath.
Protecting Humanity. Advancing Science.
My hands went cold.
"What is this?"
Dennis looked at me. His face was tired. Guilty.
"Gray Protocol," he said. "We all worked for them. Your mom. Cole. Me. We were supposed to track anomalies. Eliminate threats. Keep people safe."
He tapped the photo.
"Your mom was our best analyst. She could find patterns no one else saw. And then she found something we weren't supposed to know."
I couldn't breathe.
"She found out what they were really doing. Not protecting people. Experimenting. They weren't eliminating threats. They were making them."
He met my eyes.
"Your mom didn't go missing, Ivy. They disappeared her. And Cole was the one who pulled the trigger."