“Your face says you didn’t sleep,” the barista said, sliding a paper cup across the counter.

Rowan blinked. She hadn’t even realized she’d been staring at nothing, arms folded against the café counter like it was holding her upright. She snapped out of it and narrowed her eyes at him.

“My face says I want caffeine,” she muttered.

The barista smirked, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “And yet, here you are ordering herbal tea. Not exactly power fuel.”

Rowan glanced down at the cup. “You got my order wrong.”

“Nope,” he said, tapping the lid. “I got it right. You ordered coffee. But you’ve had three in a row since you walked in here yesterday, so I’m saving your nervous system.”

Rowan stared at him, a sharp retort forming then stalled. Who even noticed things like that?

“You keeping tabs on me, barista boy?” she asked.

“Just doing my civic duty,” he said. “Preventing caffeine-induced homicide.”

The line behind her shifted. Someone coughed impatiently. Rowan grabbed the cup and stepped aside, but she didn’t walk away. Something about him prickled under her skin, not just his words, but the way his eyes followed her.

Not in a flirtatious way. In a… measuring way.

His eyes were grey, storm-colored, but sharp. Too sharp. Like he was cataloging her every move.

Rowan found herself asking, “You always this nosy with customers?”

He leaned on the counter, voice low enough the next person in line wouldn’t catch it. “Only the ones who look like they spent the night hunting ghosts.”

Her pulse tripped.

She forced a scoff. “You got a lot of jokes for someone making minimum wage.”

“Humor’s free. That’s why I use it.”

Rowan took a sip of the tea too hot, burning her tongue. She winced, covering it with a scowl.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk flickered into something softer, almost curious.

My name's Adrian,” he said.

“I didn’t ask.”

“And yet now you know,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

Rowan muttered something that wasn’t quite thanks and turned toward the corner table. She needed space, needed to breathe, needed to shake the way his eyes felt like they were seeing past her skin.

She slid into the seat, tea clutched in both hands, and glanced back at him. Adrian was already moving down the counter, charming the next customer, but there was a tightness in the set of his shoulders.

Like someone used to being watched.

Rowan’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket.

A text from her father.

Wolf sighted near Sixth and Maple. Stay sharp.

Her chest tightened. Sixth and Maple was three blocks away.

Her gaze flicked back to Adrian. He was leaning down, sliding a drink across the counter, and in that moment the cuff of his sleeve shifted.

A pale scar wound across his wrist, jagged and deep. Not the kind you got from an accident. The kind you got from teeth.

Rowan’s stomach dropped.

Her father’s words from last night sliced through her head. No hesitation.

She couldn’t tear her eyes from Adrian. The smirk, the sharp gaze, the scar.

Her phone buzzed again.

Don’t hesitate this time.

Rowan’s grip tightened on the cup until the cardboard crumpled.

She whispered to herself, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Adrian looked up. For just a heartbeat, their eyes locked his gaze too knowing, too sharp.

And Rowan had the sudden, sinking feeling that her father’s warning had already come too late.

Rowan’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. Too fast. Heads turned. She muttered something about needing sugar and stalked back toward the counter.

Adrian looked up before she even got there. Like he’d been waiting.

“Tea not working out for you?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter.

Rowan set the crumpled cup down a little too hard. “Tastes like boiled weeds.”

“Because that’s exactly what it is,” he said, amused. “But hey, you’re glowing with health already.”

She didn’t laugh. “Where’d you get that scar?”

The smirk slid off his face. For a second, it was gone, the charm, the playfulness. His eyes dropped to his wrist as if he hadn’t realized it was showing.

“Bad dog,” he said finally, tone dry. “Didn’t like my delivery.”

Rowan’s skin prickled. Her grip tightened on the counter. “Funny. Looked more like a wolf.”

Silence stretched between them. No customers moved up. No one coughed to break the pause. The world felt like it was holding its breath.

Then Adrian smiled. Not the easy one from before. This one was smaller. Sharper.

“You spend a lot of time staring at wolves, do you?” he asked softly.

Rowan’s chest tightened. Her tongue tripped over a reply but her phone buzzed again.

Another message from her father:

Stay alert. He’s close.

She shoved the phone into her pocket without answering. Adrian’s eyes flicked down, like he knew exactly what she’d read.

“Problem?” he asked.

Rowan forced her voice steady. “None of your business.”

He leaned closer across the counter, lowering his voice until only she could hear. “Everything in this city is my business.”

Her throat dried. There it was again that strange weight in his gaze, like he was cataloging her, like he could smell the truth on her skin.

Rowan stepped back, heart hammering.

Adrian straightened, smile sliding back into place as the next customer shuffled forward. “Enjoy your weeds, hunter-girl.”

Rowan froze.

He hadn’t said her name. But he hadn’t needed to.

She stumbled away from the counter, pulse slamming in her ears. Her hand brushed the knife under her jacket, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to draw it or drop it.

She pushed through the door into the daylight, lungs clawing for air. The city noise hit her in a rush car horns, chatter, the rattle of a bus pulling to a stop.

Normal. Ordinary. Except it wasn’t.

Because inside that café stood a boy who wasn’t a boy.

And he knew exactly what she was.

Rowan’s fingers shook as she pulled her phone from her pocket. She stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, away from the glass storefront, away from the press of voices and coffee steam.

She dialed.

It rang once before her father’s voice snapped through. “Report.”

Rowan swallowed hard. “I think I found him.”

“You think?”

Her gaze flicked back to the café. Through the window, Adrian was wiping the counter, head bent, calm as if he hadn’t just dropped a word like a blade. Hunter-girl.

“He, he knew what I am,” Rowan whispered.

A pause. Then her father’s voice, low and sharp: “Stay there. Don’t lose him.”

“I can’t just ”

“Rowan. Don’t hesitate.”

The line clicked dead.

Her hand trembled around the phone. Don’t hesitate. Always the same command. Always the same chain.

“Family calling?”

Rowan spun. Adrian leaned against the brick wall just a few feet away, sunlight cutting over the angles of his face. He wasn’t smiling this time.

“How ” Her words caught. “You were inside.”

“Door’s not exactly complicated.” He pushed off the wall, hands in his pockets. “You looked spooked. Figured I’d check.”

“Check?” Rowan’s hand brushed the knife at her side. “On me?”

His gaze flicked down, just for a second, to where her jacket didn’t quite hide the hilt. His smile returned, faint and knowing.

“Funny thing,” he said softly. “You carry silver like it won’t burn you.”

Rowan’s throat closed.

Adrian tilted his head. “Most people wouldn’t even know to carry it.”

A car horn blared. Someone cursed from across the street. The world moved, normal and loud but here, between them, it was sharp as glass.

Rowan forced her voice steady. “Maybe I just like shiny things.”

“Maybe,” Adrian said. “But I don’t think so.”

He took a step closer. She held her ground, though every muscle screamed to run.

“Tell me,” he said, low enough only she could hear. “Do they teach you to hunt in daylight, or are you improvising?”

Her pulse thundered. “What are you?”

His smile deepened. For a second, his eyes caught the light strangely not grey now, but something wilder glinting beneath.

“You already know.”

The air between them tightened, too thin to breathe. Rowan’s hand hovered at the knife, but her fingers wouldn’t close around it. Not here. Not with people walking past, laughing, sipping coffee like nothing was wrong.

And Adrian leaned in, so close she caught the faintest trace of something not human on his skin, not cologne, not sweat. Something older.

“Careful, hunter-girl,” he whispered. “You don’t want to pick a fight you can’t finish.”

Then he stepped back, just as casually as he’d come, and slipped into the crowd.

Rowan stood frozen on the sidewalk, knife untouched, phone silent.

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, she realized she’d hesitated.

Rowan’s phone buzzed again, shattering the fog in her head. She dragged it up to her ear.

“Well?” her father demanded.

Her mouth was dry. She stared at the spot where Adrian had vanished into the crowd, the ripple of bodies already swallowing him whole.

“He’s gone,” she said.

Silence. Then: “You lost him?”

“I didn’t ” She cut herself off, forcing steel into her voice. “He knew what I was, Dad. In the middle of the street. I couldn’t ”

“You should have ended it.”

Rowan’s grip on the phone turned white-knuckled. People brushed past her on the sidewalk, unaware that her world was collapsing in her ear.

“You want me to stab someone in broad daylight? In front of half the city?”

“If it was the wolf, yes.”

Her chest hollowed. “You don’t even know it was him.”

“I don’t need to know, Rowan. I need you to do your job.” His voice dropped, lethal. “This family’s survival depends on action. Not excuses. Next time you see him, you don’t wait. You strike.”

The line went dead.

Rowan lowered the phone, fingers numb.

Strike. Don’t hesitate. Obey.

Her father’s words thudded in her skull like blows. But over them, another voice whispered smooth, dangerous, almost amused.

Careful, hunter-girl. You don’t want to pick a fight you can’t finish.

She realized her hands were shaking. Not from fear. From fury.

Rowan shoved the phone back into her pocket and pushed into the crowd, eyes scanning every stranger’s face, every sharp line of a jaw, every scarred wrist. But Adrian was gone, dissolved into the city like smoke.

And for the second time that day, she was left with nothing but the weight of her hesitation.

Rowan didn’t stop moving until she was blocks away. Her legs carried her without aim, weaving through the noise of the city horns, chatter, the rattle of a skateboard passing too close. But none of it landed.

Her father’s voice replayed like static in her skull.

Strike. Don’t hesitate. Obey.

Adrian’s voice followed, smoother, sharper.

Careful, hunter-girl…

Rowan shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, fingers brushing the silver knife hidden there. The metal burned faintly against her skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her what she was carrying. What she was supposed to be.

By the time she realized where her feet had taken her, she was standing in front of St. Ignatius Church the unofficial headquarters of her family’s “business.” The stained glass windows loomed above, saints frozen mid-suffering, eyes cast down in judgment.

Perfect.

The heavy door creaked as she pushed inside. The air was colder here, smelling of stone and candle wax. Her cousin Cade leaned against a pew, polishing a silver-tipped arrow with a rag. His grin spread when he saw her.

“Well, well. The prodigal daughter returns. Tell me, Rowan, did you stab anything today, or just run laps around the city?”

Rowan brushed past him, jaw tight. “Move.”

But Cade followed, voice sing-song. “Dad’s not happy, you know. Word gets around fast when someone can’t finish a job. Makes the whole family look sloppy.”

She stopped short, turning on him. “You weren’t there.”

“Don’t have to be. You’ve got a reputation.” Cade leaned in, smirk, cruel. “Soft hands. Soft heart. Sooner or later, one of those wolves is going to tear you open and I’ll be the one cleaning up after.”

Before Rowan could snap back, her mother’s voice cut from the far end of the nave.

“Cade.”

He straightened, grin still intact but quieter now. Rowan’s mother approached, her steps calm, her hands folded in front of her like she was carrying an invisible weight.

“That’s enough,” she said.

Cade lifted his hands, mock-innocent. “Just reminding her of her duty.”

“Your duty is not to provoke your cousin.” Her gaze lingered on him until he finally slouched away, muttering.

When he was gone, Rowan’s mother turned to her. Her voice softened. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Rowan said. The word was too sharp. She forced her tone steadier. “Not physically.”

Her mother studied her face. Always too perceptive. Always seeing through the armor Rowan tried to put on.

“You saw something,” her mother said. Not a question.

Rowan swallowed. “He’s not like what Dad says. At least… not exactly.”

Her mother’s expression flickered, too quick to read. “Rowan ”

“He knew what I was. He called me hunter-girl. He…” Rowan stopped herself. Her fingers dug into her jacket pocket, into the hilt of the knife. “He wasn’t afraid of me.”

Silence stretched in the church. Only the faint hiss of candles burned in the distance.

Finally, her mother said quietly, “Then you need to be afraid of him.”

Rowan’s pulse kicked.

Her mother touched her arm, briefly, firmly. “Be careful. Silver in your veins or not you are not invincible.”

Rowan nodded, throat tight. She wanted to ask more, press for what her mother wasn’t saying. But before she could, the church door slammed open.

Her father’s voice thundered inside. “Rowan. My office. Now.”

The words hit like a gavel. Final.

Rowan glanced once at her mother. But her mother’s eyes gave nothing away.

She turned and followed her father, knife burning against her side, Adrian’s voice burning louder in her head.

And for the first time, Rowan wasn’t sure if her fear was for herself… or for what she might do next time she saw him.