Morning crept in soft and gray, the kind of light that made the world look half-dreamed.
I hadn't slept. The single silver feather Pippin left behind still shimmered faintly on my nightstand, defying every rule of physics and sanity I'd ever trusted.
By the time I reached the café, the air smelled of wet leaves and roasted beans. Elior was already there, sleeves rolled, quietly wiping down tables. No green shimmer in his eyes now—just the steady, too-calm gaze of someone who'd made a decision while I was still wrestling with questions.
"You look like you wrestled a thunderstorm," he said gently.
"I did," I muttered, hanging up my coat. "Its name was 'Everything You Told Me Last Night.' "
A flicker of a smile. "Then I owe you coffee."
I watched him work the espresso machine with an elegance that suddenly felt otherworldly. Had I really served him cappuccinos for weeks and never noticed the precise grace of his movements?
Now every small action screamed not human.
"I don't even know where to start," I said finally. "Cupid. Headquarters. Wards. Ex-Cupid Adrian. How do you expect me to process all of that?"
"You don't have to believe it all at once," Elior said. "Just—believe what you felt last night. That shimmer wasn't a trick of the streetlight."
He slid a cup toward me. Foam art in the shape of a heart. Of course.
"Stop doing that," I said.
"Doing what?"
"Making hearts appear everywhere. It feels like… manipulation."
His hands stilled. "That's the difference between me and Adrian," he said quietly. "I guide. I never force."
The door chimed. My pulse jumped, expecting a flash of gold, but it was only a pair of morning regulars. Elior greeted them with practiced warmth, the picture of normal. Maybe that was the most dangerous part—how easily he could blend.
---
The lull between customers gave me time to study him. "What happens if I don't believe you? If I just… walk away?"
"Then you walk away." His answer was immediate, soft but unshakable. "Free will is sacred. Even to us."
"And Adrian doesn't agree."
"No." Elior's eyes darkened. "He thinks love without certainty is cruelty. He wants to rewrite the rules so no one can ever lose someone again."
"That sounds… almost kind," I said, surprising myself.
"It starts as kindness," Elior said. "It ends as a cage."
A prickle raced down my spine at the word cage.
---
The bell rang again. This time, the air shifted—warm, perfumed with smoke and roses.
Adrian.
He stood in the doorway like he owned the sunrise: black coat, gold eyes faintly glowing before he blinked them human. "Good morning," he said, voice velvet. "Thought I'd start my day with something sweet."
Elior stiffened. "We're closed for a private event."
Adrian's smile didn't waver. "Funny. The sign says Open."
He moved to the counter, every step measured. Customers at a corner table suddenly leaned toward one another, eyes soft, as if invisible strings tugged them closer.
I felt the pull too—a gentle warmth curling in my chest. I gripped the edge of the counter to stay upright.
Elior's green glow flared. "Stop," he said.
Adrian tilted his head. "I'm only buying coffee."
"Then buy it without touching their hearts."
Adrian's gaze flicked to me. "And what about yours, Lila? Isn't it already half awake?"
Heat bloomed under my skin, a tug both thrilling and terrifying. I forced a breath. "Don't."
For a heartbeat, something unspoken passed between them—an old rivalry older than mortal years.
Then Adrian smiled, slow and almost tender. "I'll have a latte," he said.
Elior made it, silent but seething. When Adrian finally left, the bell's echo lingered like a warning.
---
As soon as the door shut, Elior whispered an incantation. A faint green ripple spread across the glass, sealing it.
"That was a test," he said.
"I noticed."
"You held your ground," he added, almost proud. "But the wards… I felt a crack. He's stronger than I thought."
I sank onto a stool. "What happens if he wins?"
Elior crouched until we were eye level. "Then choice dies. And so does everything that makes love real."
The room was quiet except for the slow hiss of the espresso machine. His hand brushed mine—warm, steady, undeniably human despite everything.
"I won't let him take that from you," he said.
The silver feather in my pocket pulsed faintly, as if agreeing—or warning.
---