Chapter 1
Devin
Seven days working at the library café, and I finally have everyone's orders memorized.
Knox takes his coffee black, two sugars, in the largest cup we have. Vaughn likes a cortado with an extra shot. Ezra gets tea, loose leaf, whatever Robin has that day, always with a look of quiet superiority at the coffee drinkers. Nico orders a flat white with an extra shot and nurses it for two hours while he works through case files in the corner booth. Jason always gets whatever seasonal monstrosity Robin's created, extra whipped cream. Toby brings his own tea bags and just needs hot water. Robin doesn't order because he makes his own drinks while stress-testing new recipes on unsuspecting customers.
The morning rush is manageable now. My hands don't shake when I steam milk. I can make small talk about the weather without wanting to disappear into the storage closet. Robin calls it progress. I call it survival.
"You're doing amazing, Dev!" Robin calls from where he's arranging pastries in the display case. The whole café smells like butter and cardamom. He's been experimenting with a spiced pear galette all week, and the test batches keep getting better. "Seriously, best hire ever."
I duck my head, focusing on wiping down the already-clean counter. Compliments make my skin feel too tight, like everyone's suddenly looking at me. "Just doing my job."
"Your job that you're excellent at." Robin hip-checks me gently as he passes. "Oh, heads up, we might get some of the pride in today. Knox said something about everyone needing caffeine after their morning meeting."
The pride. That's what they call themselves, the lions who run the bar and garage on the edge of town. They're nice. Intimidating as hell, but nice. They tip well, don't complain when I fumble their orders, and Knox always asks how I'm settling in. I've picked up enough from Robin's chatter and the way they move through the library, territorial but easy with each other, filling up doorways, tracking movement with those gold-flecked eyes, to know they're not the kind of people you ask too many questions about.
I've been here since six, even though my shift didn't start until noon. The library opens early for seniors on Thursdays, and Margaret lets me slip in with them. Five hours of reading before work, then I can usually manage another three or four after, depending on when security does their rounds.
It's better than going back to the shelter during the day. Too noisy. Too many questions. Haven House is fine. Better than fine, honestly. It's the most stable I've been since I was a kid. Eight months of a real bed, regular meals, a door that locks. Before that was two years of couches and floors and the backseats of cars when nobody had a couch to offer. Before that was foster care, six homes between eight and eighteen, none of them permanent, all of them teaching me the same lesson: don't unpack. You won't be staying.
But Haven House has a clock on it. Twenty-one plus sixty days, that's the rule. I've got sixty days left before the grace period runs out and I need somewhere to go.
So I read, and I work, and I save every dollar I can.
The bell above the door chimes, and I look up automatically, customer service smile ready.
Then freeze.
It's him. The quiet one with the fantasy novels who sits in the back corner of the literature section. The one whose reading speed matches mine, who handles books like they're precious, who always returns things exactly where he found them. I've been watching him for months. Not in a creepy way, just... noticing. He reads the good stuff. The deep fantasy series that take commitment. Not the bestseller-of-the-month crowd who pick something up because it has a pretty cover. He reads like it matters.
Silas. I learned his name two weeks ago when Knox called him from across the library.
He's never come to the café before.
"Hey, Silas!" Robin waves cheerfully. "Finally decided to check out my empire?"
"Vaughn said you had good coffee." Silas's voice is deeper than I expected, quiet like he doesn't use it much. "Thought I'd see."
He approaches the counter, and I realize I'm supposed to take his order. Right. That's my job. I can do this.
"What can I get you?" My voice only cracks slightly.
He studies the menu board, and I notice he's carrying a book.Wizard's First Ruleby Terry Goodkind. I've read the entire series twice. The later books get weird, but the first three are solid fantasy. If he likes those, he'd probably love McCaffrey's Pern series. Same epic world-building but with better character development.
"Just a regular coffee," he says finally. "Large. Black."
"For here or to go?"
"Here." He holds up his book. "Thought I'd read for a bit."
I nod, turning to grab a mug, the real cups we use for people staying in, and notice Robin watching us with a weird expression. Like he's plotting something.
"I'll get some scones too," Silas adds. "Whatever's good."
"Blueberry lemon," Robin jumps in. "Made them this morning. Dev, give him three. The boys will steal them if he doesn't bring offerings."
I box up three scones, trying not to let my hands shake. Silas is right there, close enough that I can smell his warm skin. Not cologne, just him. He's got paint under his fingernails, just a speck of green.