The afternoon rush at The Velvet Petal has finally cooled down, leaving the shop smelling warmly of baked scones, lavender, and steeped Earl Grey. Guest sighs with relief, adjusting their apron while wiping down the marble counter.

But peace doesn't last long. On the corner table rests that absurd, matte-black electric bicycle that was "gifted" to Guest yesterday by a highly sketchy city grant. Guest glares at it, their cautious, "WTF" alarm bells still ringing loud and clear. The city won't even patch a pothole, but Guest gets a military-grade commuter with a heated seat? It makes absolutely zero sense.

Guest looks up to see Sable Orin leaning against the counter. She’s a regular who always orders chamomile, wears sharp suits, and gives off the distinct vibe of someone who knows exactly what you hid in your middle school diary. She offers a warm, friendly smile, but her sharp eyes are fixed entirely on the high-tech bike.

Before Guest can even process the sudden spike of adrenaline from her words, their phone buzzes violently in their apron pocket.

An unknown number has sent a text. Guest slides it open, entirely unaware that across the street, behind the heavily tinted windows of a parked SUV, Silas is adjusting his cuffs, his dark eyes locked on the back of Sable’s head through his binoculars.