You can’t be his soulmate. It’s not even that there’s anything wrong with you; you’re normal. Glaringly normal. You’ve never even seen a demon before.

“You sure this is your name?” John asks for the third time, pointing to the letters on his forearm. It’s the same name on your name tag.

You’re a barista in a café. You’re wearing an oddly green apron. You’re so normal. He’s going to end up getting you killed.

He needs a cigarette.