By late afternoon, the café had a feverish atmosphere. Heat pulsed from the walls, and lights flickered at random intervals. Faye emerged from the back room, her expression drawn, hands steady only through sheer will.
"We're nearing a threshold," she warned. "The café is misaligned. Any more anomalies and the entire structure might—"
She didn't finish.
Because at that moment, the door swung open and a teenager stumbled inside. Sweat matted her hair. Her breath came in sharp wheezes. And her aura—her threads—were a mess. Tangled. Fraying. Flickering violently.
Jace felt it before she even spoke.
"Please," she begged. "Make it stop. I keep seeing everything—I don't know what's real, what's future, what's past—everything is overlapping—"
Faye froze. "Another one."
Jace stepped forward instinctively, but the café reacted before he could. The pendant lamps overhead flared bright white. The wooden beams shuddered. A steaming hiss escaped from the espresso machine completely on its own.
Ren grabbed Jace's wrist. "Don't. The café wants you to handle her. It's pulling you toward her."
"Someone has to help her," Jace said.
Ren's grip tightened. "Not you. That's the problem."
But Jace had already moved. He guided the girl to a booth, speaking softly, grounding her with words and breath. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, threads twitching like static across her skin.
"What did you drink?" Jace asked gently.
"A black coffee," she sobbed. "From a food truck downtown. The barista said it would help me 'wake up to the world.' I thought he meant caffeine—"
Jace shut his eyes. The misuse was spreading. Someone was actively brewing Eclipse-derived drinks.
Faye approached, jaw tense. "She's unstable. Her thread density is collapsing."
"What do we do?" Jace asked.
Her answer was a whisper.
"You stabilize her. The café won't let anyone else touch her fate."
Jace swallowed.
The café wasn't asking.
It was demanding.
He placed both hands on the table. Warmth surged beneath his palms, not from his own body but from the café, funneling power through him like a conduit. He channeled it carefully—too much and he'd break her thread entirely, too little and she'd spiral.
It took minutes that felt like hours.
Finally, the girl's breathing slowed. Her threads dimmed to a manageable glow.
She fell asleep, exhaustion pulling her under.
Ren stared at Jace like he was watching someone drown in slow motion."Every time you fix someone, the café pulls you deeper."
Jace didn't argue.
He could feel it too.