26. Seth
Seth
The bar smells like coffee and burnt toast when I make it downstairs. Light cuts through the dusty blinds, catching on the bottles stacked behind the counter. It’s quiet enough to hear the clock on the wall ticking.
Zira’s behind the counter flipping something in a pan, humming under her breath. Steam rises from a pot of coffee that smells strong enough to wake the dead.
“Morning,” I say, sliding onto one of the bar stools.
She glances over her shoulder, grinning. “Look who’s alive. Sit. You look like you’d hurt yourself with a spatula.”
“I resent that.”
“Resent it sitting down.” She slides a mug of coffee across the counter without asking. “Eggs? Bacon? Something that won’t kill you?”
“All of the above.”
The door to the back room opens and Theo appears, hair still damp from a shower, looking more awake than anyone has a right to be this early. He nods at me, then at Zira. “Smells good.”
“Sit,” she says again, pointing at the stool next to mine with her spatula. “I’m not running a cafeteria line.”
Theo sits, accepting his own mug of coffee. We don’t talk much—just the comfortable kind of quiet that comes from being too tired to fill silence with words.
Jace stumbles in a few minutes later, looking like he got maybe three hours of sleep. “Coffee,” he mumbles .
“Magic word,” Zira says without turning around.
“Now.”
“Close enough.” She pours him a mug and he takes it like a lifeline.
“Where’s everyone else?” Theo asks.
“Rhett’s doing perimeter check,” Zira says. “Gray’s with him. Wes is still asleep. Thane and Bree are—” She pauses, smirking slightly. “Resting.”
Jace snorts into his coffee.
We eat in relative peace—bacon, eggs, toast that’s only slightly burnt.
It’s the first normal meal we’ve had in days, and I let myself sink into the ordinariness of it.
The clink of forks on plates. The smell of grease and coffee.
The easy rhythm of people who’ve survived something together and made it to the other side.
Theo finishes first, pushing his plate away. “I’m going to check on the others. Make sure everyone’s actually awake.”
“Good luck with that,” Jace mutters.
Theo leaves. Jace drains his coffee and stands, stretching. “I’m gonna grab a shower before all the hot water’s gone.”
And then it’s just me and Zira.
She hums while she scrapes the grill clean, then disappears into the back room muttering something about needing more eggs.
I’m alone.
Zira’s humming fades down the hallway, the only sound left the slow drip of coffee behind the bar.
The bell over the front door jingles.
The sound cuts through the quiet—not urgent, just unexpected.
I turn toward the door as it swings open, and a woman steps inside .
She moves like she owns the place. She wears a leather jacket and dark pants, boots that don’t make a sound on the wooden floor. Her hair is black—crow-black, with a faint iridescence when the light catches it just right. Sharp features, eyes like polished obsidian, and a smile that knows too much.
She looks at me once—quick, deliberate, assessing—and the smile widens slightly.
“Morning,” she says, voice smooth. “Didn’t expect anyone that pretty to be conscious at this hour.”
I blink. “Bar’s closed.”
“Good thing I’m not here for the food.” She leans against the counter, one elbow propped casually like she’s settling in for a conversation.
Something about her sets my instincts on edge; I can’t put my finger on why. She doesn’t feel dangerous exactly—more like the kind of person who could be dangerous if they wanted to be.
“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“Maybe.” Her eyes flick over me again, slower this time. “You’re new.”
“To what?”
“To all of this.” She gestures vaguely at the room, the world beyond it. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re still figuring out which way is up.”
I don’t answer. Don’t know how to.
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. “What’s your name?”
“Seth.”
“Seth.” She repeats it like she’s tasting the word. “I like it. Simple. Strong. ”
Before I can respond, the door to the back hallway opens.
Stellan appears in the doorway and freezes.
His entire demeanor shifts in a heartbeat—from casual to lethal, every line of his body going tense. His eyes lock onto the woman at the counter and his expression hardens into something cold and dangerous.
“Get the fuck away from him,” he says. His voice is calm, controlled, but there’s a razor’s edge underneath it.
The woman raises her hands slowly, smile never fading. “Easy, Stellan. I’m not here to start anything.”
“Then leave.”
“Can’t.” She straightens, pulling something from inside her jacket with slow, deliberate movements—a small silver coin that catches the light as she sets it on the counter between us.
It hums once. A sound I feel in my teeth more than hear.
“Tell your queen I’m here to talk,” she says, eyes still on Stellan. Then her gaze flicks back to me, just for a heartbeat, and her smile turns sharp. “Preferably before the others find out I came alone.”
The coin continues humming, faint but insistent, vibrating against the wood.
Stellan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
The silence stretches until Zira reappears from the back room, arms full of supplies. She stops dead when she sees the woman, her expression shifting from surprise to something darker.
“Nyx,” she says flatly.
The woman—Nyx—inclines her head slightly. “Zira. Still playing chef, I see. ”
“Still playing games?” Zira sets the supplies down hard enough to rattle the counter. “What do you want?”
Nyx’s smile doesn’t waver. “Like I said. To talk.”
The coin hums again, louder this time.
The smell of coffee still hangs in the air, but the peace is gone.
Whatever we’d managed to find this morning just shattered.