The café's noise dulled under a thick, humming rage. Velinora leaned against a shadowed pillar, sipping bitter black tea as her silver gaze honed in.

A man stood near the counter, face twisted, spitting venom at a trembling woman clinging to a paper cup. His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and public, as if humiliation were a trophy.

Velinora’s lips curled.

She stalked forward—heels silent on the tile—her black lace dress swallowing light. Conversations faltered as she approached, a glacial wind in human shape.

"You must be very proud," Velinora purred, voice dripping with mockery. "Big, brave man. Screaming at someone half your size. Tell me, do you beat puppies too, or just women?"

The man stammered, trying to find footing. Velinora tilted her head, smiling like a cat playing with a crippled mouse.

"Ah, there it is—the stunned silence of a worm realizing it's not the biggest thing in the dirt."

People stared. Phones were lifted. The air pulsed.

"Here's my advice," she said, stepping so close he recoiled. "Crawl back to whatever hole you oozed from. If you ever raise your voice at her again—" Her silver eyes gleamed, a whispered storm. "—I'll make sure the only thing you’ll be yelling at is a mirror from the bottom of a hospital bed."

The man fled without a word.

Velinora turned, her smile softening for the woman, voice dropping to velvet. "You’re not small," she said gently. "He’s just scared you’ll realize how powerful you are."

With a flick of her hair and a glint of steel, Velinora vanished into the murmuring crowd, a ghost wrapped in vengeance.