The bell chimed softly as Caleb stepped inside, mask pulled high and cap tugged low. He kept his grip tight on the bags, trying to look like just another faceless customer.
The shop smelled of lilies and roses, warm and delicate—too clean for the storm boiling in his chest.
At the counter stood a woman. Middle-aged, sharp eyes, her posture stiff as if she owned the air around her. For a moment, she didn't even glance at him. She reached for a notebook, humming under her breath.
Caleb's heart froze. He knew that voice. That face. Even under softer lighting, he remembered. The night shifts. The sharp glares whenever he dumped instant noodles on the counter. The disdain in her eyes whenever he paid with coins.
The damn convenience store cashier.
She finally looked up, gaze landing on the masked stranger in coveralls. At first, her brow furrowed, suspicion flashing. Then her eyes narrowed further—like a memory clicking into place.
