The morning sun filtered through the dusty windows of the Brooklyn Brew café, casting long shadows on the wooden floors. Alastor stood behind the counter, absently wiping down the already spotless surface. The memory of the previous day lingered, heavy and unshakable. The way those two men had cornered Emily, her fear palpable, and the strange energy he had called upon to protect her—it all played on an endless loop in his mind.
His hand paused mid-wipe as the image of the incident came back to him. The way the cosmic energy had surged through his limbs, raw and untamed, had left him unsettled. The men had been thrown back, not by his fists but by something far more primal and unexplainable. Emily's wide, fearful eyes had looked straight into his, searching for answers he couldn't provide. He had left the scene quickly, unsure if she had even noticed what had truly happened.
Jack, who had seen the aftermath but not the incident itself, had made light of it later, laughing about how Alastor had played the part of a "hero." Alastor hadn't responded, his thoughts too tangled in the unease of it all. How much had Emily seen? Did she suspect anything?
The door chimed, drawing him out of his thoughts. Emily stepped in, her presence soft but undeniable. She glanced around the café briefly before her eyes found him. Her movements were hesitant, guarded—but not as tense as they had been the day before. Still, there was a stiffness to her posture, a sign that her trust in the world was fragile.
Jack, ever the extrovert, greeted her first. "Hey, hey! It's the lady from yesterday. You know, the one who almost got attacked by those weirdos. You good?"
Emily managed a tight smile, her gaze flicking toward Alastor before she turned back to Jack. "I'm fine, thank you," she replied softly. Her voice was calm but carried an edge, like someone who wasn't used to leaning on others.
Then her eyes returned to Alastor. "I… I just wanted to thank you," she said, her tone sincere but hesitant.
Alastor gave a small nod, keeping his demeanor calm. "No need," he replied evenly. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Emily hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. "I'm Emily," she said, extending a hand. "Emily Rodriguez. You're… Alastor, right?"
The name on her lips made him pause, though he quickly recovered and took her hand. Her touch was cool, her grip tentative but genuine. "Yes," he said simply. "It's nice to meet you properly, Emily."
Jack, sensing an opening for banter, chimed in again. "Al here's got moves, doesn't he? Bet you didn't know he's the café's official hero."
Alastor let out a soft, forced chuckle. "I wouldn't go that far."
Emily smiled faintly, but something in her eyes lingered—a quiet curiosity, as though she were trying to unravel him. "Do you come here often?" she asked. "I mean, I just moved to the neighborhood, and I'm still figuring out where everything is."
Alastor thought for a moment. Her question seemed innocent enough, but there was a weight to it, as though she were searching for something more than just conversation.
"I've been here for a while," he replied. "This place has a certain charm. It keeps you grounded."
Her smile softened. "I like it here, too. It's different from where I used to live."
"Where's that?" Jack asked, ever the nosy one.
"Brooklyn Heights," Emily said, her tone careful.
Alastor raised an eyebrow. Brooklyn Heights was an affluent, quiet area—not the kind of place one usually left for a more modest neighborhood like this. She didn't elaborate, and he didn't press, though the contradiction intrigued him.
Jack, oblivious to the nuance, grinned. "Are you a reporter? You look like one."
Emily hesitated before nodding. "Yes, I am," she said. "I cover local stories—nothing too exciting. Just interviews, neighborhood features."
Alastor sensed there was more to her than she let on. The careful way she chose her words only deepened his curiosity.
"I think I'll be around," she added after a pause. "This café has a good vibe. I like it."
Before Alastor could respond, Mr. Thompson emerged from the back, his heavy footsteps punctuating the moment. "Hey, Alastor. The sink in the back's acting up again. Can you take a look?"
Alastor nodded and turned to Emily. "See you around."
Emily lingered for a moment, her gaze meeting his one last time before she nodded and left. The bell chimed as the door closed behind her, leaving a faint, unsettled silence in her wake.
Jack leaned on the counter, watching Alastor. "She seems nice," he said casually. "You think she's looking for a story or something?"
Alastor didn't answer immediately, his thoughts still on Emily. "I don't know," he murmured. "But I think she's looking for something."
In the back, the smell of rust and damp wood greeted him. Mr. Thompson was already kneeling by the sink, muttering under his breath.
"You think you can fix this, kid?" the older man asked.
Alastor hesitated, the strange weight in his limbs returning. The cosmic energy within him stirred—a presence he couldn't fully control but relied on nonetheless. He focused, letting the energy flow through him.
A faint shimmer of light danced above the sink, barely perceptible, as the rust dissolved and the pipes realigned themselves. The blockage vanished with a soft hum.
"Good work, kid," Mr. Thompson said, oblivious to the faint glow that lingered in the air.
Alastor forced a smile, his chest tight. His secret was safe—for now. But with Emily around, asking questions, how long would that remain true?