Morning arrived quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the tall windows of Arman's house, stretching across the living room floor like warm gold. The world outside had already begun moving again—cars passing, people heading to work, the distant sound of a bus braking at the corner.
Inside the house, Arman stood in the kitchen making coffee.
Across from him, Samantha leaned against the counter, watching with mild fascination.
"You really drink that every morning?" she asked.
He poured the coffee into a mug.
"Yes."
"It smells strong."
"It is."
She leaned closer to the cup as he lifted it.
"I used to love coffee," she said softly.
Arman noticed the way her expression changed when she said used to.
Like the word still didn't feel real to her.
"You can still pretend," he said.
"How?"
"Smell it."
She leaned closer again.
For a moment she closed her eyes.
"It's hazelnut," she said.
He blinked.
"How did you know?"
"That was the most popular one at the café."
Arman paused mid-sip.
"The café."
Samantha opened her eyes.
"Yes."
The memory from the night before came back quickly.
He came to the café once.
The man who had asked about her shift.
The man who had been waiting at the docks.
Arman set the mug down.
"We should go."
Samantha tilted her head.
"Go where?"
"To your café."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You think he might show up again?"
"Maybe."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then we ask questions."
Samantha thought about it for a moment.
Then she nodded.
"Okay."
The café was only fifteen minutes away.
Arman parked the motorcycle across the street.
The small shop looked exactly how Samantha remembered it.
A narrow glass front.
Warm lights glowing inside.
A wooden sign above the door that read:
Briar Lane Café
Samantha stood beside him on the sidewalk.
Her expression softened.
"I worked here almost every day."
"You liked it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She smiled faintly.
"It smelled like coffee and cinnamon all the time."
Arman pushed the door open.
A small bell chimed.
Inside, the café was warm and busy with the late-morning crowd.
Students typing on laptops.
A couple sitting near the window sharing a pastry.
A barista behind the counter steaming milk.
Samantha moved slowly through the room.
Her eyes scanned everything.
The tables.
The counter.
The chalkboard menu.
"I remember this," she whispered.
Arman walked to the counter.
The barista looked up.
"What can I get you?"
"Just a coffee," Arman said.
"Black."
The barista nodded and turned to the machine.
While they waited, Samantha moved behind the counter area.
Her gaze fell on a photo board on the wall.
Pictures of employees.
Old staff parties.
Holiday decorations.
Her eyes widened.
"There."
Arman followed her gaze.
A small photo was pinned to the board.
Three baristas standing behind the counter.
One of them.....
Samantha.
Alive.
Smiling brightly.
Arman stared at the photo for a moment.
"That's you."
She nodded quietly.
"I remember that day."
"What happened?"
"It was our Christmas rush."
She laughed softly.
"I spilled caramel syrup everywhere."
Arman smiled.
"I would've liked to see that."
For a moment the world felt strangely normal again.
Then. the bell above the café door chimed.
Both of them turned instinctively.
A man stepped inside.
Tall.
Dark jacket.
Baseball cap pulled low.
Samantha froze.
Her breath caught.
Arman noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
Her eyes were locked on the man.
"That's him."
Arman's pulse jumped.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
The man walked toward the counter.
Calm.
Unaware.
Or pretending to be.
Arman forced himself to stay relaxed.
"Don't panic," he whispered.
Samantha's voice trembled.
"He's the one from the docks."
Arman glanced at the man carefully.
From the outside, he looked completely normal.
Just another customer.
The man stepped up to the counter.
"One coffee," he said.
His voice was calm.
Flat.
The same voice Samantha had heard in the car.
Her stomach twisted.
Arman's jaw tightened.
"Stay here," he murmured.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a better look."
He walked slowly toward the pickup counter.
The man stood only a few feet away now.
Close enough to see his face clearly.
Close enough to notice the small scar near his jaw.
Arman felt a cold chill move through him.
Because Samantha was standing right beside him.
And for a split second, the man's eyes shifted.
Not toward Arman.
Toward her.
His expression flickered.
Just for a moment.
Recognition.
Then it disappeared.
The man looked away quickly.
Like nothing had happened.
But Arman had seen it.
And Samantha had too.
Her voice trembled.
"He saw me."
Arman's heart pounded.
The dock worker's warning echoed in his mind.
The closer she gets to remembering… the closer the killer gets to her.
And suddenly...
This wasn't just an investigation anymore.
Because the killer had just walked into the room.
And he might already know that Samantha was still here or maybe not?