Zephyra's POV
A quick tap landed between my shoulder blades, more of a jab than anything, and I snapped out of my daze with a startled jerk. I turned around quickly, already knowing who it was before I saw her pinched face.
"Why the hell are you standing in the middle of the floor like a zombie?" snarled my ever-lovely manager, Marla Vaughn.
Middle-aged, always grumpy, and seemingly offended by my very existence, Marla had been trying to fire me since the day I got this job at Sage & Steam Café. I didn't even know why she'd hired me in the first place, probably because she didn't want to argue with the owner about giving a desperate girl a chance, but ever since, she'd been waiting for me to screw up.
I blinked at her, scrambling for a response. "Sorry—I… I was just—"
She cut me off with a glare. "I don't want excuses. Table six has been waiting for someone to take their order, so move it."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stomped off, probably to go breathe fire on the new barista.
I muttered an apology under my breath and rushed toward the table.
My hands still felt clammy, my knees were slightly shaky, and I clutched the order pad tighter to ground myself, trying to shake the disorientation clinging to me like a cold sweat.
What had just happened?
One moment I'd been walking toward a customer, tray in hand, fake smile already plastered on my face, and then suddenly, it was gone.
The café, the customers, and the clinking cups and hiss of the espresso machine.
I was in a rainy alleyway, not just standing but running with my heart pounding and my lungs burning. My feet had slapped against pavement as my surroundings blurred, and panic and urgency had surged through me as if my own life were in danger.
I remembered the sound of thunder.
The sting of blood somewhere on my side, and worst of all, the presence. Someone was behind me, reaching for me, and their hand was so close, I could practically feel the breath of their shadow on my neck.
Then… nothing.
Like someone had yanked me back into my body.
I was here again, standing in the middle of the café like an idiot, with Marla breathing down my neck and customers staring.
I scribbled down the order from the couple at table six, apologizing profusely as I went. My mouth was moving, but my mind was still stuck back there, in that alley, and in that vision.
That's what it had to be, right? A vision?
I mean, it wasn't like it was the first weird thing that had happened to me lately.
There was the fight, Astraea showing up like a dark-winged goddess of chaos, my father being… gone, and now this?
I repeated the order to the couple, thanked them, and turned away before they could see how dazed I was.
What the hell is happening to me? I wasn't some psychic, I wasn't special, and I had never even hallucinated a day in my life, but that hadn't been a daydream.
It had been real.
Too real, and now, as I moved behind the counter to pass the order to the barista, my fingers still trembled slightly.
I leaned on the edge of the counter, pretending to study my order pad, when really, I was just trying to breathe.
Had anyone else seen me freeze? Had anyone else noticed the way I just spaced out in the middle of the café like someone had unplugged me?
I was losing it.
No—no.
There had to be a reason.
Hadn't Astraea said she wasn't supposed to be summoned? That it shouldn't have been possible? But I did summon her.
Somehow, thinking of her grounded me a little.
That supposed demon, snarky, arrogant, temperamental as hell—had saved my life, and after she vanished, I'd felt… different, not just emotionally. Something inside me had shifted, and now I was seeing things.
Was this connected to her? Had she done something to me? Or was something inside me changing because of her?
I didn't know, and worse, I didn't know who to ask.
It wasn't like I could sit down with Marla and be like, "Hey, question: if I keep seeing visions of running through dark alleys covered in blood, does that mean I've been magically altered by a demon I summoned by accident?"
Yeah. That would go great.
I glanced around the café, eyes flicking from table to table.
Everything looked normal, but I didn't feel normal anymore, not even close.
By the time I got off work at the café, my back ached, my feet were killing me, and my fake smile had long since dissolved into a scowl I didn't bother hiding, but there was no time to rest. There never was.
I had exactly one hour to get some training in before I had to haul myself over to my second job at the bar.
The gym was on the edge of town, wedged between a pawn shop and a half-boarded-up liquor store. The front sign was so faded it was impossible to tell what the place was originally called. Most of the letters were either missing or dangling by a screw. Everyone just called it The Pit.
Fitting.
I pushed the door open, the familiar creak and the stench of sweat and metal hitting me like a punch to the face. The place was crowded for a weekday afternoon, fighters grunting, weights clanking, and heavy bags being punished like they owed someone money.
I kept my head down as usual, moving fast past the fighters in the front section and heading for the old locker room. Most of them barely noticed me, which was exactly how I liked it. Being invisible meant fewer fights, fewer bruises, and fewer reasons to get humiliated again.
After changing into my black sports bra and threadbare shorts, I laced up my boots with mechanical focus, ignoring the ache in my joints and the sting in my ribs from my last fight.
Losing hurt, but being a loser hurt more.
Still, I didn't fight to win, I simply fought to survive.
Rent, food, electricity, and my mother's medications—those things didn't care if I got my ass handed to me in front of a crowd. They only cared about money, and since fighting barely brought in any, I worked the café in the mornings and slung drinks in the evenings like I wasn't breaking inside.
It was all survival, all of it.
Just as I tied the last knot in my boot, I heard footsteps approaching behind me, loud, and deliberate ones.
I straightened, already tense.
"Zephyra."
I didn't need to turn around. I already knew the voice.
Vira.
Great.
I stood slowly, turning to face her. She was in her training gear, tight, red compression leggings and a sleeveless top that showed off her ridiculous biceps. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, her jaw clenched, and that signature superiority complex practically radiated off her skin.
"What do you want, Vira?" I asked flatly.
She didn't bother with small talk. "Do you know that bitch personally?"
My brows pulled together. "Who?"
"That freak from last night. The one who humiliated me in front of the entire crowd."
Oh.
Astraea.
Of course, I should have seen this coming. Vira's bruised ego was legendary, and Astraea had broken her undefeated streak with a single punch. Even I, from where I stood outside the ring, could feel the crack in Vira's confidence the moment her body hit the ground.
Astraea hadn't just beaten her, she'd embarrassed her, and clearly, Vira hadn't let that go.
I shrugged. "I've seen her around."
Technically not a lie, just… not the full truth.
Vira narrowed her eyes at me. "You know what I mean. She looked at you before she challenged me, like you knew her. Like she was there for you."
I clenched my fists subtly at my sides, forcing my expression to stay unreadable. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit."
Vira stepped closer, her height forcing me to look up to meet her glare.
"She wasn't on the roster, she didn't sign up, and no one even knows her, and yet she walked into my ring like she owned the place and laid me out like I was some rookie."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking, because she was right, and it was glorious.
"I didn't bring her there," I said simply. "She showed up the same way everyone else does."
Vira scoffed. "Yeah? Well, if I find out you did know her, and you're hiding something from me…"
She let the sentence hang in the air like a threat. Which, knowing her, it probably was.
I met her gaze evenly. "If you're that pressed about it, maybe don't underestimate random girls next time."
Her nostrils flared, and for a second, I thought she might swing on me right then and there, but instead, she sneered, turned on her heel, and stalked off toward the sparring ring like the floor offended her.
I let out a slow breath, trying to release some of the tension in my shoulders.
She wasn't going to let this go, and if Astraea showed up again, especially if we interacted, things were going to get even messier.