Chapter 8: Coffee date and familiar names

The coffee spot Matteo picked was tucked between a florist and a quiet antiques bookstore, the kind of place people didn't notice unless they already knew to look. It was small, dark wood, steel chairs, and the faint scent of cardamom clinging to the air like memory.

Elias pushed the door open at 4:01 p.m., a minute late on purpose.

He looked like he'd stepped out of an old portrait—a soft black turtleneck half hidden under a white button-down shirt, a long coat layered over both, and his gold-rimmed glasses catching the afternoon light in delicate flashes. His hair, a little neater than usual, still held the soft waves from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times. It gave him a kind of tired elegance, like someone who had slept too little and still remembered to dress like it mattered.

He spotted Matteo instantly.

The red hair made him impossible to miss, even with his back turned. It looked freshly combed but already windblown, like he'd run one hand through it on the way in. He was dressed sharper than necessary—black coat, black tie, crisp shirt—but wore it with the casual confidence of someone who'd rolled out of a patrol car and into the seat without adjusting a thing. Elias noted the gold watch on Matteo's wrist, heavy and a little too flashy, paired with a grin he could already feel before Matteo turned.

"Look at that," Matteo said, glancing up and leaning back in his seat with a slow, impressed once-over. "Didn't think you'd show, let alone show up like you walked out of an art museum."

"I had twenty minutes of wardrobe anxiety," Elias said, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down without letting his expression shift. "You're lucky I didn't talk myself out of it."

"You always look like this?" Matteo teased, nodding toward the glasses. "Or just when you're trying to intimidate a man into behaving?"

Elias lifted a brow. "You're the one who brought a tactical coat to a coffee shop."

Matteo grinned wider, clearly unbothered. "Had court this morning. Gotta look respectable at least once a week." He tilted his head, watching Elias a little too carefully now. "How are you really?"

Elias met his eyes, those striking, ocean-blue eyes that always felt like they were seeing too much. Like depth disguised as charm. It reminded him of the deep sea. Something vast. Something that could pull you under before you realized you'd stepped too far.

"Well," Elias said, fingers adjusting the edge of his sleeve, "I'm good. Mostly."

He offered a small, practiced smile. Not forced. Just enough to keep things from tipping too soon.

Matteo leaned forward, elbows on the table, clearly not buying it. But he let it go.

"So buried in work as usual?"

"Kinda." Elias reached for the glass of water in front of him, taking a slow sip, letting the pause fill the space between them just long enough to settle his nerves.

"Professor Aylen took leave for the week," he continued, voice even, "and I had to cover two of her lectures. Theory of Computational Resonance and Adaptive Ether Design. Sounds impressive, I know."

He set the glass down and leaned slightly back in his chair, letting the weight of it roll off his shoulders with a quiet shrug.

"But considering it's the beginning of the year," Elias added dryly, "I mostly reminded students what the secondary genders are and tried not to visibly lose faith in the educational system."

Matteo laughed, full and warm, a quick crack of sunlight across the table. "Nothing says higher education like explaining biology to hungover freshmen who forgot their notebooks."

"Or their ability to read a syllabus," Elias muttered.

"See?" Matteo gestured toward him with his cup. "And you thought I wouldn't want to hear about your academic problems. This is gold."

Elias rolled his eyes, but he didn't hide the small smile this time. "I'm sure the arrest reports you filed this morning were equally thrilling."

"Unfortunately, no one asked me to define reproductive variance at 8 a.m., so I'd say you still win."

Elias arched a brow, lips curving just enough to show amusement. "Give it time. With your charm, someone's bound to corner you about secondary presentation in the break room."

He took another sip of water, then added, tone lighter but still edged with curiosity, "I still don't understand why you're single. My sister is half-alpha and she married faster than I could blink."

Matteo chuckled, but it wasn't sharp, it was low and thoughtful.

"Your sister married into a political move," he said, resting his chin briefly on one hand. "I like a quiet life. Not money. Not mess."

Elias tilted his head slightly, studying him. "You're a cop. Quiet isn't exactly built into the job description."

"No," Matteo agreed, "but I don't bring it home. I don't want to."

He looked at Elias then. Really looked. Eyes steady, blue, and unreadable beneath the softened curve of a smile that didn't quite reach the surface, one of those expressions that felt more like memory than warmth.

"I've had offers," Matteo said, his voice lower now, stripped of the teasing. "But most of them wanted the badge. Or the alpha gene."

Elias didn't answer right away.

The words didn't ask for a response, not really. They just landed like something you only say once and hope it's heard properly the first time.

He kept his gaze fixed on the half-full glass of water in front of him, the condensation slowly trailing down the sides, quiet and inevitable. His fingers pressed lightly against the rim, tracing the cool edge like it could anchor him in the present.

That kind of want, Elias knew it. Had seen it from too many angles. The way people shaped you into something useful. Desirable. Strategic. The way certain traits, secondary gender, academic standing, and bloodline stopped being parts of you and became things claimed.

He exhaled, slow and careful, the kind of breath you take when your chest is full of things that don't quite have names.

"Let's not get depressed right now," Matteo said, leaning back in his chair, the legs tilting just slightly off balance as he raised a hand to flag the waitress. His voice returned to its usual rhythm, light and familiar, like he knew the moment had stretched too far and needed to be pulled back before it bent into something neither of them were ready for.

Elias didn't argue. He appreciated the shift.

But then—

"How are your parents?"

Elias blinked. "I thought you said you didn't want the mood to be depressing."

Matteo gave a short laugh. "Fair. But there were some odd cases this week. And I remembered you mentioned once that your parents are…" He hesitated, just long enough for the word to feel like a door he wasn't sure he should open. "Followers of the Numen cult. Thought it might be relevant. Or… interesting. To you."

Elias tilted his head, more out of habit than surprise. The mention didn't sting. Not anymore.

"I'm not sure if 'followers' is even the right word," he said eventually. "They surrendered to it. Like it was relief. Like it meant they didn't have to think anymore."

The waitress appeared before Matteo could respond, her smile bright, eyes scanning them politely.

Matteo ordered first, something simple, familiar. Elias asked for black coffee, though he didn't particularly want it.

The waitress left, and the space they'd carved into the quiet of the café remained undisturbed, but slightly altered.

Elias didn't lean forward. He stayed exactly where he was, posture loose but alert.

"You think there's a connection?"

"I don't know," Matteo said. "But there's been movement. People poking around the sealed archives. Looking for documents that were supposed to be burned after the last investigation. Names, mostly. Affiliations. Yours didn't come up."

"But theirs did," Elias murmured.