Lines in the Ashes

Lilith stood behind the counter of her café, wiping the same spotless surface for the third time. The sun filtered through the front windows, catching in the steam from a fresh pot of coffee. Customers moved around her, but their voices faded into background noise. Her world was collapsing—quietly, invisibly, one brick at a time.

She hadn't heard from Arnold in days.

Not since that look in his eyes—that hollow, guarded stare that replaced his usual steely calm. A look that said, You might be like the others. And she couldn't blame him. Every step she took now felt like walking across glass.

Athena popped her head in from the bookstore side of the space. "There's someone out front asking for you."

Lilith sighed. "Did they say who—"

"No." Athena's brows pinched. "But... he gives me a bad feeling."

Lilith froze. Her heart skipped once—then beat faster.

When she stepped out from behind the counter, the man was already walking toward her. Expensive suit. Cold eyes. The same one who had come before.

He smiled faintly, as if they were old friends.

"Victor sends his regards," he said, his voice low enough not to draw attention.

Lilith kept her expression neutral. "I told you—I'm not doing this."

"I think you misunderstand," he replied. "This isn't a negotiation. You're not buying time. You're being watched."

She felt the weight of those words like a blade at her throat.

The man leaned in, voice now a whisper. "You think Blaze will protect you? He's already questioning who you are. All we have to do is wait."

Her fingers tightened around the cloth in her hand.

He turned to leave, then paused. "If Victor doesn't get what he wants, he'll take what matters to you instead. Be careful, Lilith. Sometimes... fires start on their own."

And then he was gone.

—

That night, the city was quiet. Too quiet.

Lilith finished locking up just past nine. Athena had left an hour earlier, promising to return early the next day. Lilith stood outside the café for a moment, watching the headlights blur past in the distance, trying to convince herself everything would be okay.

Then came the explosion.

A deafening roar. The ground trembled. Glass burst. Heat swallowed her. She was thrown backward, hitting the pavement hard.

When she opened her eyes, smoke filled the air, thick and choking. Her café—her bookstore—was engulfed in flames.

She couldn't move. Couldn't scream. She just stared at it, her throat raw from shock, watching everything she had built collapse in seconds.

By the time the fire trucks arrived, it was too late.

The blaze was declared an "accidental gas leak."

But Lilith knew better.

As she stood wrapped in a blanket hours later, a courier approached. Silent. Efficient.

He handed her a small envelope.

She opened it with trembling fingers.

"Accidents happen. Don't let the next one be more costly."

Lilith stared at the note, her hands cold despite the heat of the wreckage behind her. Something in her broke then—not just fear, not grief. Something deeper. A thread snapped.

Victor wasn't warning her anymore.

He was declaring war.