The Quiet

"Alright, follow my voice," Marcus said, guiding Sarah to one of the stools behind the counter. He placed a small, delicate cup in front of her, its ceramic surface glazed in soft, swirling hues of blue and white. "I'll walk you through the process. This cup holds the residual memories and emotions of one of our regulars here. It's a simple object, but it will serve as a perfect starting point for your training."

Sarah nodded, her hands resting lightly on the counter. "Okay. What do I do?"

Marcus's gaze softened as he leaned forward, his voice calm and measured. "To begin, you need to focus. Clear your mind and direct your attention entirely on the object. In this case, the cup. Focus your vision, not just with your eyes but with your inner awareness. Let the object reveal itself to you."

Sarah frowned slightly, her brow furrowing in concentration. "And then what?"

"It's a slow process," Marcus admitted, "and one that is difficult to master. But with time and persistence, it will become second nature. Let the truth come to you gradually. Don't try to force it."

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as Marcus continued. "Feel the energy within the object. It holds echoes of its history, of the emotions imprinted upon it by its owner. What do you sense?"

Sarah nodded, her focus returning to the cup. As she delved deeper into its energy, Marcus watched silently, his thoughts lingering on the peculiar tension that had haunted him earlier. Whatever was coming, he knew they had little time to prepare. But in Sarah, he saw a spark of hope—a potential he hadn't encountered in centuries.

Sarah closed her eyes, letting the world around her fade into a soft, distant hum. She focused on the cup in front of her, imagining it in the quiet space of her mind. It wasn't just a simple object—it was a vessel, holding something far greater than what appeared on the surface. She centered herself, breathing deeply as she willed away all distractions. The faint hum of the café, the lingering scent of roasted beans, even the steady presence of Marcus nearby—they all melted into the background.

Then, she opened her senses.

It was subtle at first, like the brush of wind on her skin or the faint echo of a melody in the distance. But soon, it grew stronger, more distinct. Emotions, rich and unfiltered, began to pour into her like a rushing current. Joy, fleeting but bright, danced alongside sorrow so deep it felt endless. Laughter rang faintly, tinged with nostalgia, while regret lingered at the edges, heavy and unspoken. Each feeling swirled around her, intertwining in a graceful, chaotic dance that pulled at her, beckoning her to follow.

Sarah felt herself being swept up in the current, the emotions enveloping her like waves crashing over a shore. It wasn't just the feelings themselves—she could sense the fragments of moments they were tied to. A shared smile between lovers, a quiet tear shed in solitude, the warmth of a morning sunrise breaking through uncertainty. The stories behind each sensation tugged at her, pulling her deeper into their grace.

Her breathing quickened, the sheer intensity threatening to overwhelm her. "Marcus," she called out, her voice unsteady. Her eyes stayed shut as she grasped for guidance. "What do I do with these feelings?"

Silence.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized he hadn't responded. Confusion began to creep in, a small but insistent thread tugging at the edges of her awareness. Slowly, she opened her eyes, expecting to see Marcus sitting across from her.

But he wasn't there.

Instead, the room had changed. The café was still the same in structure, the walls and tables exactly as she remembered, but the energy was different. And more strikingly, she was no longer alone. Around her, the regulars of the café sat at their usual tables, each one focused on their drinks or softly murmuring to one another. It was a scene she had witnessed countless times during her shifts, but there was something uncanny about it now—something just slightly off.

Sarah's gaze darted from one table to the next, her breath catching in her throat. The regulars, though familiar, didn't seem to recognize her let alone converse with her. Their movements were too smooth, their expressions too still, as though they were caught in a moment frozen in time. The clinking of cups and quiet laughter echoed faintly, but the sounds seemed detached, as though coming from somewhere far away.

Her chest tightened as she took it all in, her mind racing to make sense of what she was seeing. "Marcus?" she called again, her voice louder this time, tinged with a growing unease.

But there was no answer. Only the quiet