“Morning, Aunt Tilda,” Ellie says, dropping her eyes to the floor. It is Wednesday today. Tilda only comes to the café on Wednesdays.

  Who were they talking about? Judging by the loathing look on Sam’s face, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it must have been Ellie. She knits her brows—when had she ever skipped work for an entire day?

  Tilda closes the distance between them and pulls Ellie into an embrace. “How have you been? Are you unwell?”

  The familiar minty scent of Tilda’s shampoo invades her nostrils. Ellie hates that smell. But it is Tilda who breaks the embrace. Ellie’s arms rub awkwardly against her oversized cardigan, as if brushing off dust.

  “Ellie.” An unreadable look creeps onto Tilda’s face. After a pause, she lets out a sigh and says, “You get to work.”

  This is something Ellie does not understand. People sometimes hesitate to speak to her, as if they must muster up the courage to voice their thoughts.

  Ellie nods. She has no intention of staying a moment longer to talk to Tilda. Besides, Tilda usually does not linger long in the café.

  After Ellie changes into her uniform in the storeroom. Tilda gives her a final, lingering glance before turning toward the door. The bell above jingles as the minty smell of her shampoo leaves the café.

  Ellie exhales quietly and returns to stand at the side counter. James is wiping down the espresso machine. As Ellie steps past him, he leans over so slightly away- not enough to draw attention but enough for Ellie to notice.

  Ellie must go on to pretend not to hear the soft sniff he gives as he walks away.

  “Where were you?” Sam appears behind her without preamble.

  “What do you mean?” Ellie does not like the accusatory look in her eyes.

  “What do I mean?” Sam exclaims, throwing her hands wide as if she has just heard something unbelievable. “You did not show up yesterday! We were all dying trying to cover your shift!”

  Ellie rubs her nose. A strange weight settles in her chest—a dull pressure she cannot quite name. Sam does not look like she is joking this time, not like she usually does when teasing.

  But… she was here yesterday. She saw the boy playing his game. She saw Madam Odette. She saw the regulars.

  “Anyway, I’m not interested in excuses,” Sam scoffs, shaking her head. “I just wish Tilda would stop being so kind to you. She should have realised by now—you are going to single-handedly run this place into the ground.”

  She pauses, leans in slightly, and adds with a wrinkle of her nose, “And you should really shower. You stink.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Sam spins around and strides off to take an order from a new customer.

  Why is everyone acting so strange today?

  The conversation with Tilda, Sam’s unusually unfriendly behaviour — none of it feels quite right.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Ellie tilts her head in quiet confusion.

  Time passes in the café.

  Ellie slowly eases back into her routine — pouring coffee, taking orders, and serving customers. The rhythm helps. It always does.

  Sam, as usual, somehow manages to find time to gossip about customers, even when things get busy.

  The bell above the door jingles.

  Sam looks up from behind the counter and nudges James with a smirk.

  “Look who’s back — Captain Egghead.”

  James bites his lip to stifle a laugh.

  “Don’t be mean,” he whispers, already grinning. “But if he asks for a ‘flart whyte’ again, I swear I am walking out.”

  Sam chuckles.

  “It’s flat white, mate,” she mimics, her voice twisted into a cartoonish version of the man’s accent. “And do not forget the ‘extra hat miwk.’”

  They both laugh quietly, ducking behind the espresso machine just as the bald man approaches the counter.

  “Good morning,” the man says.

  Immediately, they adjust their expressions — polite, pleasant, and distant.

  Ellie has only seen the man once before.

  After placing his order with James, he finds a table near the window.

  James gestures at Ellie. “Bring that man his flart whyte,” he says, jutting his chin toward the man and giggling with Sam.

  Ellie carries the cup across the café, balancing it neatly on a small tray. The man’s bald head shines under the light like polished glass.

  “Here’s your flat white,” Ellie says politely, her voice just above the café’s soft hum.

  The man smiles in return — then hesitates. His nose twitches faintly, just once. His expression does not change, but something flickers in his eyes.

  Something Ellie cannot quite place.

  “Thank you,” he says, leaning back slightly. Almost imperceptibly.

  Ellie nods and turns away.

  She walks past James and Sam, who are already whispering behind the counter again, then heads to the side station to refill the jars with water.

  That is when she notices the two schoolgirls — the same ones who were gossiping about Madam Odette the day before. They are seated at the same table, hunched over their drinks.

  They must have been here for some time — probably even before Ellie arrived.

  “Have you heard about Mr. Todd?” one of them asks, voice hushed with intrigue.

  “What about him?”

  “He has been missing since yesterday. Right after that meeting with Madam Odette.”

  Ellie catches her breath.

  Mr. Todd.

  The name hits her like a stone in the chest.

  It does not take long to connect the name with the face — the man who had been sitting across from Madam Odette yesterday. She knew he looked familiar but could not recall the name.

  Mr. Todd. That’s it.

  “Really?” the other girl gasps.

  “Yes. I heard his wife filed a missing person report today.”

  “Oh my god — he has a wife? Then is Madam Odette the mistress?”

  The first girl shrugs.

  “You know, people do all sorts of funny things. I would not be surprised if she was.”

  Ellie’s heart thumps louder in her chest as she inches closer, leaning in to catch every word.

  The name lingers — Mr. Todd.

  It circles in her mind, stirring something just beneath the surface.

  Mr. Todd…

  She’s heard the name before. Not just today. Before that.

  Somewhere deeper. Buried.

  A flicker of something returns — a door.

  Not the café door.

  A white door with golden numbers.

  She sees a corridor with dull grey carpet.

  A faint smell of antiseptic and lemon cleaner.

  A door on the right.

  The plate reads: 02-02.

  A condo. His condo.

  She does not remember why she was there.

  But she remembers the door.

  And the number.

  And the strange quiet behind it.

  A loud game voice jolts her out of the thought.

  Ellie throws an annoyed glance at the boy playing on his phone.

  The sound effects from his game have cut through her focus, scattering the words of the schoolgirls like startled birds.

  “Madam Odette… cursed… dangerous…”

  Double kill!

  “Missing… maybe killed…”

  Ellie leans in a little closer, her breath shallow.

  And then —

  “Ellie!”

  Sam’s voice cuts in like a blade.

  Ellie jolts and straightens her back slowly, her eyes cloudy as she turns toward Sam, who now wears an irritated expression as she strides over.

  “How many times do I need to call you?” Sam snaps.

  Ellie throws one last glance toward the schoolgirls.

  They, too, seem startled by Sam’s sudden outburst. Their heads bow over their phones, fingers scrolling quickly. The conversation about Madam Odette and Mr. Todd dies, smothered under the weight of tension.