The morning sun spilled through the large windows of The Hollow Bean, casting golden light across the rustic wooden counters and well-worn coffee mugs. The air smelled of fresh espresso and warm pastries, filling the cozy café with a sense of comfort. Celine had always found solace in the routine of her work—the rhythmic hum of the espresso machine, the comforting chatter of familiar customers, the quiet predictability of Glenavare. It was a small town where surprises were rare, and strangers even rarer.
But that morning was different.
The bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of new customers. Celine glanced up from where she was restocking sugar packets, expecting to see Mrs. Whitmore or one of the usual early-morning regulars. Instead, two men in suits stepped inside, and immediately, the air in the café felt different.
They didn’t belong here.