The café buzzed with life — the low hum of conversation, the steady hiss of the espresso machine. Iris wiped her hands on her apron, eyes flicking toward the muted TV.

"Masked Villain Strikes Again — High-Tech Heist Leaves Authorities Reeling."

No casualties, just unconscious heroes and an impossible escape. Iris had been there — clinging to steel beams, watching the figure disappear into the night. She could still feel the static in her chest. The itch of danger.

And she’d let her slip away.

The bell above the door chimed. Iris glanced up.

The woman who walked in wasn’t what she expected. A loose sweater, ripped jeans, sneakers — nothing flashy. Her hair was soft and a little messy, her posture almost timid. She hovered by the pastry case, biting her lip.

But that familiar prickling at the back of Iris’s neck wouldn’t stop.

Danger.

She glanced around the café. Nothing seemed off. Just a quiet customer fidgeting with her sleeves.

Iris swallowed the feeling and approached. "Hey. What can I get you?"

The woman startled slightly, blinking like she hadn’t noticed her. "Oh — um. Caramel latte. Oat milk, please."

Her voice was soft. Gentle. Harmless.

But Iris’s instincts screamed otherwise.

She nodded, starting the order, and glanced up again — then froze.

Bruises.

Faint marks across the woman’s knuckles. Purple and blue. The kind you get from throwing punches.

Her heart pounded harder.

"New to the city?" Iris asked, trying to sound casual.

The woman hesitated. "Yeah. Just moved here last week." She offered a shy smile. "Figured I’d get to know the neighborhood. This place is cute."

"Thanks." Iris forced a smile. Her eyes flicked back to those bruises. "Big move?"

"Family business."

Iris’s pulse spiked. The new CEO. Bad reputation, a family known for greed.

When she handed over the cup, their fingers brushed — warm, soft. Harmless.

Yet that prickle of danger screamed louder.

"Welcome to the city," Iris said quietly. "Be careful out there."