Chris wakes up to the warm aroma of breakfast. He blinks sleep from his eyes and stretches, then spots the neatly set table with eggs, bread, and tea. A smile spreads across his face.
The family gathers, saying a short prayer, and then they all start munching happily. Raymond shares a laugh, talking about how chaotic life can be where he was coming from, and he asks everyone about their night.
Amara opens her mouth to speak, but the chill of last night's unsettling feeling returns for a brief moment. She shivers, then shakes it off and smiles, brushing the feeling aside.
Amara forces a small smile as she picks up her cup.
AMARA
(chuckling softly)
I slept so well. It's been a long time since I had that kind of sleep.
CHRIS
(teasing)
Or maybe you were dreaming about your mysterious prince.
AMARA
(laughs, playfully hits him)
Oh! Please stop it
RAYMOND
(grinning)
Prince? Hmmm… should we be expecting wedding bells soon?
AMARA
Oh, please. Y'all so funny!
They all burst out laughing. The sound fills the room warmly, blending with the faint sound of birds chirping outside. For a moment, everything feels normal — peaceful.
Then, as Amara turns to take another sip of tea, her eyes catch something faint — a quick reflection on the windowpane. Like a silhouette… tall… broad… familiar.
Her smile fades.
RAYMOND
(raising a brow)
Amara? Are you good?
She blinks rapidly, forcing another smile.
AMARA
Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just thought I saw—
(pauses, looks again)
Never mind.
RAYMOND
You sure?
AMARA
(nods quickly)
Yh.
She stands, carrying her plate to the sink but her heartbeat thumps faster. Whatever she saw… it wasn't just her mind.
— — —
The sound of running water fades from the small bathroom. A moment later, Amara steps out wrapped in a towel, her hair damp, face fresh but distant — like she's there, yet not fully present.
She wipes the fogged mirror and stares at her reflection for a second too long before sighing.
AMARA (softly)
You're fine… just fine. It's just all in your head girl, pull yourself together !!
She dresses quickly — jeans, a plain top, then her work apron folded neatly over her arm.
---
LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS
Chris, her younger brother, is sprawled across the sofa, completely lost in a Telemundo series.
The screen flickers with dramatic voices and over-the-top music.
He's got a half-empty bowl of cereal on his lap and the remote clutched like treasure.
CHRIS (yelling at TV)
Nooo! Don't believe him, Maria! He's lying again!
Amara (laughing softly)
You and your Telemundo… Do you ever get tired of this?
CHRIS
Never. This is the only thing that makes sense in this country.
Amara shakes her head, still smiling, then glances toward the doorway where Raymond appears, already dressed to step outside.
RAYMOND
Ready? I'll walk you off to work.
AMARA
(surprised)
You don't have to.
RAYMOND
I know. But I want to.
He opens the door for her, and she grabs her small black handbag. She looks back once more — Chris still glued to the TV, then steps outside.
---
EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREETS – MORNING
The morning sun glows soft and gold over the narrow streets.
Miss Walter, their opposite neighbor, waters her plants, cars honk, and kids with their baby sitters run past with laughter.
Amara and Raymond walk side by side.
It feels so peaceful, almost normal.
RAYMOND
So, tell me… since when did the nightmare begin?
Amara pauses mid-step, blinking.
AMARA
What nightmares?
RAYMOND
(grins faintly)
You forget I can read your face like an open book. You space out so often, and I see fearful expressions like you're witnessing a ghost or sum'n.
She looks away, pretending to adjust her bag.
AMARA
I'm fine, Raymond. Really.
But her tone says otherwise.
They walk on quietly until they reach the corner where the old bakery stands.
RAYMOND
Alright. Go make the world pretty again.
AMARA (smiling)
And you, try not to break anything while I'm gone.
He laughs, watching as she disappears into the crowd.
But his smile fades the second she's gone — replaced with a hint of worry.
_ _ _
The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the near-empty bar. A faint golden glow from the pendant lights stretched across polished counters, catching the glint of untouched glasses lined neatly in a row. It was early, too early for the usual crowd, and the stillness made every sound sharper, more noticeable.
Amara stood behind the counter, idly drying a spotless glass for the third time. Her thoughts wandered, drifting back to last night—the stranger's piercing eyes, the unnatural chill from his touch, the quiet intensity that seemed to follow her even after he left.
She exhaled slowly, forcing her hands to stay steady. You're overthinking, Amara. It was just a customer. Just another night.
From the back room, Tonia emerged, tying her apron as she approached the counter where Amara was, lost in her own thoughts.. The faint scent of coffee trailed behind her.
"Amara, are you okay?" she asked, frowning. "You look like you've been awake all night."
Amara gave a small, unconvincing laugh. "I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."
Tonia leaned against the counter, raising a brow. "You sure? You've been spacing out since you came in. I mean, you haven't even touched your latte. That's not like you."
Tonia was exceptionally good at making lattes, so Madam Celine had unknowingly made the best choice by letting her handle the coffee section. Every morning when she arrived at work, the first thing she did was brew a round of lattes for herself and the other attendants, their little ritual to stay agile and ready for the day's stress. This was done without Madam Celine's knowledge, of course, and none of the girls would ever dare to tell her. I mean, who would want to stop having a taste of this masterpiece?
"I said I'm fine," Amara insisted gently, turning away to rearrange a few bottles on the shelf.
The silence between them stretched thin, filled only by the faint jazz music playing in the background. Amara's eyes flicked to the large mirror behind the bar—and froze.
For just a second, she thought she saw something. A tall figure standing behind her, shoulders broad, still as stone. Her heart skipped. She turned immediately.
No one. Just empty tables and the faint sound of glass clinking at the far end.
She forced a nervous chuckle, shaking her head. "Get a grip, Amara."
Amara took a long, harsh gulp of her latte, the cup clinking against the counter as her eyes stayed fixed, daring, scanning the room for something she couldn't name.
Tonia looked up from her tray. "Did you say something?"
Amara didn't answer. Her phone buzzed on the counter. She reached for it absentmindedly, expecting a message from her brother.
But the sender was unknown.
> "Your father begged for mercy too."
Her breath caught. The color drained from her face. The phone slipped from her trembling hand and hit the counter with a sharp clink.
Tonia's eyes darted up again. "Amara? What's wrong?"
Amara stared at the glowing screen, her reflection quivering in the black glass.
Her heart pounded violently against her chest.
> "And your mother watched him die."
The phone fell to the floor.
He didn't let Amara go alone.
Even after she left for work, he followed — unseen, silent, lurking at every corner. He was there with her at the bar, not in his human form, but cloaked beneath the veil of shadows. He made sure no one could see him. No one could actually see him but somehow, Amara was able to.
And she did.
Through the faint reflection in the mirror behind the counter, Amara's eyes caught his silhouette — tall, still, and dark as the void. Her breath hitched, and before he could move, she turned sharply.
He vanished instantly.
He hadn't meant to startle her. The last thing he wanted was to frighten the one he was meant to protect. So he remained outside instead, standing under the warm sun, his black leather coat catching the wind. His presence alone was enough to keep the wandering demons away. None dared to come close while he watched over her.
Still, he could feel her fear from afar. He saw her go pale, her phone slipping from her trembling hands. His chest tightened. What was she seeing now?
He ignited the faint flame in his eyes to scan for demonic traces… nothing. No presence. No shadow. Nothing threatening her at all.
So why was she terrified?
What could possibly be scaring his Amara?
When the sun began to dip behind the horizon, he looked through the bar window one last time. She was gathering her things, clearly planning to head home early. He turned away before she could step outside and see him.
As he walked off, hands buried deep in his pockets, he sighed to himself.
How could he ever ask her about that moment, about what she saw in her phone? She believed he only walked her to the old bakery earlier today.
He smiled faintly.
If only she knew.