The next three and a half hours slipped by faster than Macaria expected.

  She had started off with good intentions—reviewing assignments, catching up on textbook chapters—but her focus drifted in and out like a loose radio signal. Every now and then, her gaze would drift to the quiet café windows, or to Mochi curled near the edge of the counter, dozing in the soft glow of the early morning light.

  Then, chaos.

  The backroom door burst open with a loud CRACK, smming against the wall with enough force to make Macaria jump.

  Mochi bolted through, her tiny paws thudding across the wooden floor—and in her mouth, clutched like a trophy, was a chocote chip cookie almost bigger than her head. Her bell jingled frantically as she scrambled onto the nearest table and unched herself toward the front counter.

  Right behind her, Simon barreled out of the backroom like a storm, wearing a red apron covered in flour from colr to hem. His dark shirt and hair were dusted white, giving him the look of a man who had either wrestled with a bakery explosion or lost a snowball war.

  “Mochi!” he barked.

  The cat let out a tiny mrrow of defiance and unched herself behind a stack of napkin holders. Macaria gawked, torn between ughter and disbelief. She hadn’t even seen Mochi sneak away, let alone grab a cookie.

  After a few chaotic loops around the room and a near-disastrous slide across the counter, Simon finally cornered the fur-covered thief. He scooped her up, bristling with annoyance.

  “Take her,” he huffed, passing the purring Mochi into Macaria’s arms like she was a misbehaving toddler.

  Mochi, entirely unbothered by the chaos, shook her fur.

  PFFFFF.

  A dense white cloud of flour exploded outward, covering everything within a six-foot radius.

  Macaria coughed violently as the flour settled on her clothes, her hair, even her eyeshes. Simon stared in horror at his now snow-covered counter.

  They both had to stumble outside to dust themselves off, coughing and sputtering flour into the morning air.

  “She slipped off the prep table,” Simon grumbled, spping powder from his sleeves. “Knocked over an entire bin. And when I reached for her—she threw it at me. Like a snowball. Of flour.”

  Macaria tried not to ugh, brushing flour from her hair. “Is that even physically possible?”

  “With that demon in a ribbon? Anything’s possible.”

  Back inside, Mochi sat innocently on the floor, licking her flour-caked paws like she hadn’t just caused a minor natural disaster.

  “I hope that cookie was worth it,” Simon muttered darkly. “Because that’s your st treat for the next month.”

  Mochi’s eyes went wide and glossy, and she fell over dramatically onto her side—pying dead.

  Macaria rushed forward. “Is she okay?!”

  “She’s fine,” Simon said dryly. “She’s just very dramatic.”

  He stepped over the fake feline corpse and headed for the counter. “I'm done here. Grab your things. We’ll leave in a minute. And you—” he gred at Mochi, “—get up before that insufferable couple shows up and compins that you’re ‘breathing too close to the muffins.’”

  Mochi immediately rolled back onto her feet, ears fttened and tail twitching. It was clear she didn’t like the couple either.

  Macaria quickly packed up her ptop and shoved it into her backpack. By the time she reached the door, Simon had unlocked it, holding it open with one hand while Mochi perched smugly on his shoulder.

  Outside, dawn broke over the city like a painting come to life. The horizon blushed in soft pink and pale gold as the first rays of sun spilled over rooftops. The air was warmer now, crisp and clean. Streetmps buzzed quietly as they began to dim, their job done for the night.

  Simon nudged the bell on Mochi’s colr. Jingle.

  The cat shook her head defiantly and pretended not to notice, one paw pressing against his cheek in silent protest.

  Macaria chuckled, falling into step beside them.

  She watched the two move with a comfortable rhythm, Simon adjusting slightly as Mochi’s weight shifted. Their banter, their silent understanding—it reminded her of siblings, bickering and bonded.

  As they reached a crosswalk, Macaria gnced sideways.

  “So…” she began cautiously. “Do you really think I’m an unknown?”

  Simon didn’t hesitate. “I don’t think it could be anything else.”

  She frowned. “But earlier, you said something about ‘pure energy.’ What does that actually mean?”

  Simon hesitated. “It’s complicated. Hard to expin to someone without the foundation.”

  Macaria raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can understand?”

  “I think,” Simon said, smirking, “that you don’t have much understanding.”

  Macaria bristled. “Excuse me?”

  “You asked me how many elements there are,” he said, stepping around her. “That’s a very basic question.”

  “I know there are five!” she huffed, blocking his path.

  “There are nine,” Simon said ftly.

  Macaria froze.

  “Oh my god,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Seriously?”

  Simon spun her around by the shoulders and nudged her forward. “Embarrassment builds character. Keep walking.”

  As they crossed the street, Macaria shot him a gre. “Fine. One more question.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Absolutely sure?”

  “Yes, Simon.”

  She squinted at him. “Your ability… the time thing. It doesn’t look like any of the elements I’ve seen. What does it fall under?”

  Mochi immediately waved a paw in warning.

  Simon narrowed his eyes at her. “Traitor.”

  Then he looked at Macaria, and his smirk returned. “It falls between light and shadow.”

  “What does that mean?” she pressed.

  His tone shifted, soft but sharp. “Curiosity is a bde, Macaria. Useful—until you point it at the wrong person.”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but before a word could escape, he reached out and pressed two fingers to her lips.

  Cold bloomed in her throat.

  Nothing came out.

  Her eyes widened in shock.

  “Lesson number one,” he said gently, stepping back. “Control matters more than power. You’ll thank me ter.”

  Macaria made a strangled sound, jabbing her finger into his chest in protest.

  Simon tilted his head, almost amused. “Don’t worry, it’s temporary. Few hours at most. Or whenever I decide to undo it.” He gave a cheeky grin. “Lead the way, Silent Storm.”

  Macaria flushed red with rage, spinning on her heel and stomping down the sidewalk with exaggerated force. Stupid smug barista sorcerer time-bending jerk...

  Simon followed, hands in his pockets. Mochi stared after her from his shoulder with a knowing look.

  “Don’t judge me,” Simon muttered. “She needed to learn restraint. People ask too many questions.”

  Mochi flicked her tail across his cheek in disapproval.

  “Fine. Maybe I’ll apologize ter,” he grumbled. “Maybe.”

  Macaria didn’t turn around, but she heard every word. You’ll be lucky if you live long enough for that apology, she thought bitterly.

  Then she stopped.

  Her eyes had caught something on the sidewalk—dark red spots, drying into the concrete.

  Simon immediately stiffened. “What is it?”

  Macaria pointed mutely, then gestured toward an alley just off the street.

  It was dark. The only illumination came from a flickering streetmp that cast harsh, jerking shadows. In the patchy light, a lone figure stood—motionless—watching.

  Simon’s tone dropped to a whisper. “Keep walking before we end up being the next headline.”

  He pced a firm hand on her back and steered her away, while Mochi turned on his shoulder to watch behind them, her body tense, ears twitching like antennae.

  Macaria stayed close to him the rest of the way, the air around them growing colder despite the dawn. Her silence wasn’t just a spell anymore.

  It was instinct.

  And something in that alley still lingered.

  Watching.

  Waiting.