Page 88 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

None of it raised concern.

It simply told him the person who lived here was disciplined.

He tucked the observations away without comment, his expression never changing as Seraphina opened the front door and turned with an easy smile.

"Coffee?"

She held out a warm ceramic mug before he'd even answered.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, accepting it with a small nod.

The mug was warm against his hands, smelling faintly of cinnamon and fresh coffee, and for the first time since arriving in Blackridge, the day felt almost... ordinary.

The visit didn't last long. I kept my answers short, my posture rigid as I watched Derek lean against her counter and fill the room with stories about our academy days. Seraphina listened with that heavy, unblinking focus, her eyes wide and dark as she tracked his movements, but every few minutes, her gaze would slide back to me, small, quiet checks to see if I was still standing in the corner.

I don’t know why but fuck I like that. Yeah, baby keep your eyes on me

When we finally walked back down the porch steps to the truck, the valley fog was starting to settle back into the hollows, the purple twilight returning early under the shadow of the ridge.

We climbed into the cab. I turned the key, the engine roaring to life with a heavy, mechanical rumble that cut through the quiet of her clearing. As I backed out into the lane, Derek leaned his head against the headrest, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"I like her, Elias. She's smart. She’s... she’s got an edge to her that makes you want to keep watching."

"Don't," I said.

The response came out too quickly. Too sharp. The word hit the inside of the cab like a gunshot.

Both Derek and Mason stopped moving. The easy, post-visit relaxation vanished intensely. Derek turned his head slowly, his blue eyes wide as a slow, knowing grin began to crawl across his face.

"Fuck , Reed not like that..." Derek whispered, his eyebrow piercing glinting as he exchanged a long, delighted look with the passenger side. "I just mean I understand why you described her as ethereal and besides didn’t you see the eye contact; she made with you. Damn it was hot in there. Fuck man, you are one lucky son of a bitch."

Mason remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the road slipping away beside us. He rubbed the tattoo on the back of his hand with his thumb before speaking in his usual calm, unreadable tone.

"She's observant," he said.

"Most people aren't."

Another pause.

"I respect that."

Seraphina

The sheets were still warm. I pulled the heavy wool blanket tight around my shoulders, tucking my chin into the fleece line, watching the pale, diluted morning grey press flat against the windowpane. Between my palms, the mug of coffee radiated a steady, grounding heat. I took a long, slow breath, letting the steam fill my lungs.

It smelled of toasted chicory, brown sugar, and the faint, underlying scent of clean pine shavings from the logs stacked by the hearth. It was a safe smell. A domestic smell. Underneath it, if I leaned close to the collar of the oversized grey jersey, there was the low, musk frequency of tobacco and hard mountain rain.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness behind my eyelids turn into a blank page. Today Joey is going to kill one of her monsters. Some of you have already decided she's the villain. Maybe you're right. But history has always blurred the line between monsters and the people who hunt them. Heroes only become heroes because someone else tells the story.

"You're using the wrong spoon," Gerald murmured from the nightstand. He was perched on a stack of old paperbacks, his tiny ceramic nose pointed at the small silver teaspoon resting on my saucer.

"It's a spoon, Gerald. It moves the sugar. A spoon will do a spoons job after all," Frank countered from the windowsill, his painted eyebrows drawn into a permanent, brittle line of exhaustion.

"It’s a dessert spoon. It changes the volume of the drag. She’s over-sweetening that delicious roast."

"She likes sugar. Shut up."

"You can't even taste sugar. You're made of clay."