Alina's Pov
The café smelled of warm bread and coffee when I arrived, the usual comfort I relied on every morning. I liked coming early, before the world stirred into chaos, before the doorbell jingled and orders piled up.
But as soon as I pushed open the back door, a chill ran through me not from the cool morning air, but from something that didn't belong here. Or so I thought.
The door was ajar.
I froze, hand hovering over the handle. My pulse kicked up a notch. There was never a day that it was left unlocked. Never. And yet, there it was, a faint sliver of daylight sneaking through, mocking me.
Stepping inside slowly, ears straining for any sound beyond the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling. Nothing. But the unease wrapped around me like a hand tightening its grip.
"Alina?" Rosa's voice startled me. She emerged from the front, cheerful as always, but there was something in her expression sharp, almost anxious that made my stomach twist.
"The back door… It's open," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "I… I didn't leave it like that." My voice was shaky, but uncertain.
Her eyes flickered to the door, then back at me. The smile. "Oh, the wind must've done it," she said lightly. "These old doors never shut properly. No need to worry honey."
I wanted to push it, but swallowed instead, pretending to believe her words. My chest tightened, the unease settling deeper into my bones.
I moved past her in cautious steps toward the counter. Even the familiar routine of grinding coffee beans, arranging pastries felt like a chore today, as I tried masking the dread creeping up my spine.
Then I saw them.
Bootprints.
It was faint, like someone deliberately tried to clean it off, but slight traces of mud were still visible. Didn't she see this, is age deteriorating her sight now? I wondered.
Someone had been back here. Someone had come inside without permission. The floor beneath my fingers was cold, and the prints led from the door toward the kitchen, as if the intruder had moved cautiously, knowing exactly where they were going.
I sank onto a stool, trying to steady my hands. Rosa bustled past me, humming an unfamiliar tune that grated against my nerves.
"Alina, can you bring out another tray of muffins?" she said..
"Yeah… just a second," I muttered, eyes glued to the prints. My mind spun with questions. Who had been here? How long ago? And why had they left no other signs, no theft, no destruction, just a warning that I could barely name yet?
By mid-morning, the café had filled with the usual crowd. Their chatter buzzed in the background, soothing in one way, irritating in another. I smiled, nodded, served coffee, but my mind kept returning to the prints, to the door ajar, to Rosa's unawareness.
And then there was the napkin.
I didn't see him place it on the counter. I only noticed later when clearing the table. A customer, plain and unremarkable, left behind a folded napkin. Coffee stains blurred the edges, but the words were unmistakable:
You don't belong here.
A sharp gasp left my lips, and my chest went tight. I felt a cold shiver race down my spine. Don't belong here. The thought clung to me, suffocating and urgent.
I folded the napkin slowly, staring at it as though holding it close might somehow protect me. I wanted to run, to shove it into my bag and leave the café and just head home, but I couldn't. Everything. Something was wrong, and I couldn't ignore it.
I slipped into the kitchen, napkin in hand. Rosa was there, humming to a song I've never heard, stirring a pot as if nothing existed outside the walls of the café. My voice trembled, barely audible.
"Rosa… look at this."
Her head snapped up instantly. Her eyes widened, then flicked to mine with a flash of panic.
"What is it?" Her voice was sharp, controlled, but I could see the fear rippling beneath.
I unfolded the napkin, letting her see the crude, threatening words. Her hands shook as she snatched it from me.
"Rosa"
"Shh!" she hissed, moving fast. The napkin disappeared into the flame of the gas stove. Black curls of smoke rose immediately, curling like fingers, devouring the words before I could grab them back.
I froze, disbelief rooting me to the floor.
"Why?" I started, voice breaking.
"It's… nothing, don't dwell on it," she said, her face tender. "Just some idiot trying to scare us. Better to burn it and forget it, right?"
Her hands trembled, more than necessary. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, and for the first time, I noticed the way she avoided my gaze completely.
My pulse raced. Something in her behavior screamed alarm, warning, secrecy. She was hiding something.
I wanted to demand the truth, to shake it out of her, but fear kept my voice caught in my throat.
I stepped back, letting her finish, watching the ashes curl into the sink. The café felt suddenly colder, the air tighter, every sound amplified. My mind raced through every possibility, every reason someone would want to scare me, us. Every person who could be following me, watching me.
The day dragged on, but nothing could distract me. The shadow of that napkin and the prints lingered. Every customer smiled, every laugh felt like noise in a room that was closing in.
By the time I locked up at night, my hands were shaking. I double-checked every door, every window. Every lock clicked into place, but my gut told me it wasn't enough. The café, my safe little haven, felt like it had been violated, and worse, I had no idea by whom or what
Rosa left a few minutes ago. But before that, I think I caught her staring at the ashes in the sink. Fear and panic flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by a smile that didn't reach her lips.
I realized then, with a chill that settled in my bones, that she knew more than she was letting on. She's hiding something serious from me.
And that thought made my blood run cold.
Somebody had been here. Somebody had tried to warn me or threaten me. And Rosa, the one person I trusted inside these walls, was hiding something.
The café, the prints, the napkin, Rosa's panic, it all screamed the same thing. Danger was closer than I had realized.
And for the first time in more than two years, I didn't feel safe anymore.