Page 118 of The Code of You

The student at the next table frowned at his laptop. A moment later, the waitress returned to our table, her smile slightly more strained than before. She wiped her hands on her apron. "I’m sorry, but our espresso machine has just stopped working.” Her gaze flickered between us. "It’s never happened before. Can I offer you tea instead? Or filter coffee, perhaps?”

"Tea is fine,” I said quickly. "For both of us.”

Neo only nodded. His eyes followed the waitress as she went back to the counter. I watched his fingers curl around the edge of the table. The wood creaked softly under the pressure.

"Neo . . .”

He looked at me, and for a moment there was something wild in his expression. Something not quite human.

Behind the counter the barista was desperately trying to get the machine working again, pressing buttons, opening panels, shaking his head. The light above our table flickered once, briefly, but I caught it. And Neo saw that I had.

The waitress brought our tea and set the cups down carefully. Her hands trembled slightly, as if she had sensed something was wrong without understanding what.

"Thank you,” Neo murmured, but his voice sounded strained. When she left, he reached for his cup. His knuckles went white, the porcelain clattering against the saucer even though his hand seemed steady.

"You’re doing this,” I whispered.

"What?” He didn’t look at me.

"The machine. The lights. You’re doing this.”

The student at the next table swore quietly. His laptop had crashed, the screen black. He pressed the keys desperately, but nothing happened.

Finally, Neo raised his gaze. His eyes were glowing. "I’m not controlling it.”

"But it’s happening anyway.”

"Yes.” The word came out like a confession. "It’s happening anyway.”

The ventilation above us hummed louder, then stopped with a mechanical sigh. Other patrons looked up at the ceiling.

"Neo, what’s wrong with you?”

He set his cup down so hard that tea sloshed over the rim. "You,” he said quietly. "You frustrate me.” He clipped the consonants almost violently.

"Scuzați-mă.” The student from the next table approached us. He was maybe in his early twenties. He had untidy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. "Îmi dați, vă rog, zahărul?”

Neo froze. His eyes fixed on the student with an intensity that made my blood run cold. "Nu.” His voice was flat and emotionless.

I blinked at him. "What did he say?”

The student raised his hands. "I was just asking your friend if I could have the sugar which he declined rather rudely.”

Neo was on high alert. I felt it in the air, like electricity before a storm. His hand was still on the table, but his fingers were twitching. What had he seen?

"I’m sorry,” I said quickly. "He doesn’t mean it like that.”

The student shrugged and sat back down.

Neo stood. His hand closed around my wrist. "We’re leaving.”

"What?” I tried to pull free. "Neo, what is this?”

"Now.” His fingers dug into my wrist. He dropped money on the table without counting.

"You’re hurting me,” I muttered, but he wasn’t listening. He pulled me through the café and outside, dragged me into a side street, away from the people and the eyes. Only there did he let go.

"What the hell is wrong with you?” I rubbed my wrist. "That was completely insane.”