The bell rings. A dark shoe steps inside, staining the carpet. A boy fiddles with his phone, spinning in a chair.
Slady walks up to him. Stares at him. The boy remains indifferent.
He heads to a table, picking up a menu. Shortly after, he returns to the counter. The boy is still on his phone.
He presses his lips together. Looks at his own gloves covered in red liquid, even wiping a stain across his own face.
Lowering his hands, he sighs and, without hesitation, orders a coffee with milk.
The young man yells. Falls to the ground, the phone hitting the carpet. Slady removes his glove, rubs his eyes and apologizes. The boy complains about the scare, claiming he almost died.
Slady does not respond.
The boy looks away.
Grinds his teeth.
Then turns back, also apologizing.
He accepts, returning to the subject of the coffee with milk, placing the menu on the table, pointing with his nails, specifically requesting a heart design.
The boy laughs briefly, turning his back.
No words are exchanged, only the sound of the boy working, the rain hitting the roof, and Slady's empty gaze fixed on the floor.
The cup hits the counter. The boy, with a mocking smile, asks if the man is satisfied. He takes the cup with both hands, looks at the design... drinks it in one go and thanks him, leaving, and warning the boy to pay more attention to who enters the café.
And the boy just stands there, eyes wide open.
***
No matter how hot or cold the water was, the images did not leave Rin Yuang's mind.
The nights were haunted by the vision of the man.
And, of course, that stranger she had only seen for a few seconds.
On another night, she rested in the bathtub, eyes closed, a tired sigh. Steam rose toward the ceiling.
She slowly sat up. Her body curled in. She stood, arms trembling, exposed to the air. She dried her hair, slid the towel over her legs and chest, and wrapped herself in it.
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the fan still. She closed her eyes, darkness taking over her mind.
At those moments, her heart no longer raced.
***
In the library, Shaphira wakes up. She stretches on the bed. Yawns and goes to the bathroom...
She screams so loudly that Slady, in the kitchen, drops an egg yolk from the pan.
He enters the room. Shaphira is under the covers. He tries to understand, but one of her legs slips out, completely without fur.
He slowly sits on the bed, places his hands on his chin and assumes her body was adapting to something more human. Of course, noting the presence of tails and ears. He admits it is impressive.
Shaphira moves under the blanket and then reveals her face. Her ears twitch. She thanks him for the explanation. Then, at that moment, she asks for privacy, wanting to understand more about her true appearance.
He nods and leaves.
Minutes later, the food is on the table. Shaphira comes down the stairs wearing the dress, holding the ends of the skirt with her fingers. Her eyes shine.
She stands in front of him. Poses, seeking his opinion. He simply reaffirms her beauty in an indifferent tone, returning to eating. She huffs and sits beside him, bringing the spoon to her mouth.
In the bedroom, Slady throws himself onto the bed, letting himself sink in. Suddenly, he feels something warm wrap around his waist. He turns his face, Shaphira, her face pressed against his neck. He touches her cheek, watching her rub her nose against his palm.
Memories of what he did flood his mind. He feels a sense of dissonance. How, on that night, he carried out a massacre without any sign of mercy, and now, he gently strokes the being beside him without question.
The money mattered. But in that moment, it felt neutral. That death, those men... all the memories of drowning in the blood of men and women condemned by his own sense of justice no longer felt like mere victims or acts of vengeance... it was like eliminating insects from a house. There is no sense of cruelty, only a task to be done, to kill them to prevent disease and keep the place clean. Not a house, but his world, limited, yet more valuable with the figure lying beside him.
His arms return the embrace. He holds her head, pressing it against his chest. He makes soft sounds, as if trying to lull a child to sleep. He does not know why he acts this way, his heart still beating steadily.
But he feels it needs to be done.
To hold her.
And not allow anything to hurt her.