Ruby Fairchild liked routines.
Not because she needed them, but because they made everyone else predictable.
Every weekday at 9:17 a.m., the bell above the café door chimed. Every weekday, the same barista—early twenties, tired eyes, name tag that read Hannah—looked up, smiled a little too brightly, and asked, "The usual?"
Every weekday, Ruby answered, "Of course."
Flat white. Oat milk. One sugar. No lid.
Ruby took the cup with a polite nod, fingers brushing porcelain just long enough to feel the heat, and moved to the same table near the window. Third from the left. Good sightlines. Street view. Reflections in the glass if she tilted her head just right.
She sat with impeccable posture, crossed one long leg over the other, and opened her tablet, not because she needed to read anything, but because people behaved differently around someone who looked busy.
Most people glanced at her once.
Some twice.
A few lingered too long.
Ruby noticed all of it.
She always did.
London moved outside the café window in a familiar rhythm—commuters, cyclists, delivery vans, the low hum of a city that believed tomorrow would arrive as scheduled. Ruby watched it like a solved equation, her attention drifting lazily between reflections and probabilities.
At 9:19 a.m., the door chimed again.
Ruby didn't look up.
She didn't need to.
Her reflection shifted in the glass. A familiar shape entered the room with a steady gait, purposeful steps, jacket slung over one shoulder like it belonged there.
Elara Vance.
Ruby's mouth curved, just slightly.
Variables reintroduced.
Elara queued at the counter, scanning the pastry case with mild distrust, as if the croissants might be plotting something. Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, a few loose strands already escaping. Oversized denim jacket. Boots scuffed at the toe. A canvas bag hung at her side, heavy enough to suggest books.
Ruby closed her tablet without looking at it and waited.
Elara ordered tea. Black. No sugar. Always no sugar.
When Elara turned, her eyes lifted instinctively, and landed on Ruby.
There it was.
That infinitesimal hitch. Not surprise. Recognition.
Elara sighed, fond and exasperated all at once, and walked over.
"Do you ever go anywhere else?" Elara asked, setting her cup down across from Ruby.
Ruby tilted her head, emerald eyes warm. "I like consistency."
"You like stalking," Elara corrected, but there was no heat in it.
Ruby smiled wider. "Only you."
Elara snorted and sat anyway.
That was the important part.
Elara Vance was, by all measurable standards, inconvenient.
She didn't flirt when Ruby wanted her to. Didn't blush when Ruby leaned too close. Didn't crumble under attention, charm, or money. She argued when Ruby expected compliance and asked questions when Ruby would have preferred admiration.
Worst of all, she was consistent.
Integrity had weight. It showed in how Elara held herself, shoulders squared even when tired, gaze level even when uncomfortable. She didn't dodge eye contact. She didn't preen under it either.
Ruby had tried, once, to unsettle her.
It hadn't worked.
That had been… interesting.
"So," Elara said now, wrapping both hands around her cup. "What's today's coincidence?"
Ruby feigned offense. "I simply enjoy good coffee."
"You hate coffee."
"I enjoy watching you drink tea," Ruby corrected.
Elara rolled her eyes. "You're exhausting."
"And yet," Ruby said lightly, "you keep sitting down."
Because Elara was polite. Because Elara was kind. Because Elara believed, foolishly, that everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Ruby watched her the way a mathematician watched a paradox.
"Long day ahead?" Ruby asked.
"Always," Elara replied. "Interview this afternoon. Another environmental report buried under six layers of legal nonsense."
Ruby hummed. "Truth again?"
"Someone has to."
There it was.
That simple, infuriating conviction.
Ruby leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, studying Elara openly. She catalogued the freckles on her nose, the faint crease between her brows, the way her fingers drummed once against the cup before stilling.
If Ruby wanted, she could ruin her.
That was the thought that always came next.
Not out of malice. Not even desire.
Just… curiosity.
Ruby knew exactly how to dismantle someone like Elara. The leverage points. The emotional vectors. The lies that would hurt the most.
She didn't do it.
That restraint—that—was new.
"Stop looking at me like that," Elara said suddenly.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm a puzzle you're deciding whether to smash."
Ruby laughed softly. "If I smashed you, Elara, it would be very deliberate."
Elara met her gaze, unflinching. "That's what worries me."
They held eye contact, the air between them tight with unsaid things.
Then—
The ground lurched.
At first, it felt like a passing vertigo. A subtle sway beneath Ruby's feet, as if the building had exhaled.
Then the windows rattled.
A cup shattered on the floor.
Someone screamed.
"Elara," Ruby said sharply, already half-risen from her chair.
The floor bucked harder this time. Chairs toppled. People fell. The café lights flickered violently, plunging the room into a stuttering dance of brightness and shadow.
"Earthquake!" someone shouted.
Ruby reached across the table and caught Elara's wrist, steadying her without thinking. Elara's grip tightened in return—strong, grounding, real.
The tremor intensified, a deep, rolling violence that made the walls groan. Plaster dust drifted from the ceiling. Alarms wailed outside.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun—
It stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Phones buzzed in unison.
Televisions switched channels on their own.
The café's mounted screen normally tuned to a news loop—flickered, glitched, then stabilized.
A news anchor stared back at them, pale and shaken.
"We—we're receiving unprecedented reports from multiple regions," the anchor said, voice tight. "Satellite feeds are… confirming a massive geological anomaly emerging along the equatorial line."
The camera cut.
The image that replaced it stole the breath from the room.
A tower.
Not a building. Not a mountain.
A spire.
Colossal, castle-like, impossibly vast, rising from the Earth as if it had always been there and reality had simply forgotten to notice. Stone and metal interwoven, stretching beyond the clouds, its base wide enough to swallow cities.
Gasps rippled through the café.
"What the hell is that?" Elara whispered.
Ruby didn't answer.
Her heart was beating faster not with fear, but anticipation.
The footage zoomed. The tower's surface shimmered, runes pulsing faintly with an otherworldly glow.
Then—
The doors opened.
And something moved inside.
The anchor's voice returned, trembling now. "We're—uh—we're seeing movement at multiple points along the structure. We advise all viewers to remain indoors—"
The screen cut to black.
Every electronic device in the café went dark.
The lights died.
The city outside froze mid-motion.
People were suspended in place, falling cups, drifting dust, a cyclist paused inches above the pavement.
Time—
Stopped.
Ruby's breath caught.
Then a sound echoed in her mind. Bright. Cheerful. Entirely inappropriate.
Ding!
⸻
System Announcement: You're Screwed (But With Stats!)
⸻
Ruby smiled.
Not because the world was ending.
But because, for the first time in her life—
Something interesting had finally noticed her.