The Brooklyn Brew café was alive with its usual bustle as Mr. Thompson shuffled behind the counter, barking instructions. "Jack, check the supply shelves—I'm not running out of sugar again!"
Jack, humming under his breath, rolled his eyes as he grabbed the clipboard. "Yes, sir. Sugar: the lifeblood of this establishment," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Alastor, ever reserved, smirked faintly as he polished the espresso machine. "He's not wrong," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the streak-free sheen of the chrome surface.
Jack shoved the clipboard under his arm. "Say, Al, you ever been to a concert before? Big crowds, loud music, flashing lights—not your vibe, huh?"
Alastor shook his head, keeping his attention on the machine. "Not really my scene."
"Figures." Jack sighed dramatically and waved his phone. "Well, I scored a ticket to see Sarah Lee this Saturday. Front row, man! It's gonna be epic."
"Sarah Lee?" Mr. Thompson barked from across the counter. "Isn't she the one with the... what do you kids call it—auto-tune?"
Jack gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Blasphemy! Sarah Lee doesn't need auto-tune. She's an artist." He pointed at Alastor. "Tell him!"
Alastor raised a brow. "Wouldn't know."
Jack groaned. "You two are hopeless." He checked his watch and grinned. "Anyway, come Saturday, I'll be living the dream."
Now on Saturday night, Jack arrived at the venue...
The Queens event center was already buzzing with energy. Neon signs bathed the streets in a kaleidoscope of colors, and fans lined up outside, decked out in Sarah Lee merchandise. Jack adjusted his jacket, the ticket clutched in his hand, and joined the throng of excited concertgoers.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric. The stage was an explosion of pink and gold lights, the speakers thrumming with pre-show beats. Jack took his seat, marveling at the energy in the air. He glanced at his phone and snapped a quick selfie, captioning it: Living the dream!
Meanwhile, back in the neighborhood, Emily Rodriguez was pacing outside the Brooklyn Brew café, her notepad in hand. She had been trying to piece together Alastor's peculiar behavior since their last encounter. Something about him didn't add up, and her journalist instincts wouldn't let it go.
The door creaked open, and Alastor stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. He paused, noticing her. "Emily," he greeted, his voice even.
"Alastor." She tucked the notepad into her bag and took a step forward. "Got a minute?"
"I'm busy."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You've been avoiding my questions."
"I've been working," he corrected, his tone calm but unyielding.
"Look," she said, her voice softening, "I'm not here to pry. I just… I feel like there's more to you than you're letting on."
Alastor's jaw tightened. "Emily, I'm just a guy who works at a café. That's all there is to it."
She hesitated, frustration flickering across her face. "Fine," she said finally. "But I'll figure it out eventually."
Alastor didn't respond, turning back inside without another word.
At the concert, the crowd erupted into cheers as the lights dimmed. A spotlight illuminated the stage, and Sarah Lee stepped out, her glittering dress catching the light like a thousand tiny stars.
Jack was on his feet, cheering louder than anyone around him. "Let's go, Sarah!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.
The music started, and for a while, it was everything Jack had imagined. The bass reverberated through his chest, and Sarah's voice soared over the audience, her presence magnetic.
But then, chaos.
The first crack of gunfire was almost drowned out by the music, but the screams that followed silenced everything. The crowd erupted into panic as people pushed and shoved toward the exits.
Jack froze, his breath catching in his throat. He turned, his eyes scanning the scene as men in black masks emerged, shouting commands and firing into the air.
"Get down!" someone screamed, and Jack dropped to his knees, crawling under his seat.
On stage, Sarah Lee was being ushered off by her security team, her glittering dress vanishing behind the curtains.
Jack's heart pounded in his ears as he scrambled toward a side door, his mind racing. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
Finding a narrow hallway, he ducked inside, pressing himself against the wall. The muffled sounds of chaos echoed through the building. His hands trembled as he fumbled for his phone, but his fingers were too slick with sweat to unlock it.
For the first time in his life, Jack Wilkins was completely, utterly terrified. And he had no idea what to do next.
The distant sound of footsteps drew closer, and Jack held his breath, praying they would pass.