Stella, hair dripping from her most recent defeat by Maddie, darted to the entryway, towel forgotten over one shoulder. "I'll get it!" she called, and flung open the door.

Standing on the welcome mat, framed in the shop's warm light, was a woman in an immaculate charcoal suit — the fabric so perfectly pressed it almost seemed to repel the evening air. Her posture was rigid, every movement precise, and her jet-black hair was drawn into a severe ponytail that made her already-sharp features even more intimidating. She was the type of person who made a room feel smaller just by standing in it.

On either side of her stood two men, each filling the doorway in their own way. Ben, arms folded across his chest, was built like a slab of concrete, his thick forearms covered in old scars and tattoos. Mac, nearly as massive, had a shaved head that glinted beneath the porch lamp, his steady gaze sweeping the shop with silent calculation. Together, they looked less like party guests and more like a living warning sign.

For a moment, the noise inside faded. Jeremiah felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine, tightening across his shoulders. His heart stuttered, breath catching as Nic's gaze swept the room — clinical, cataloguing, searching for something. He remembered the last time those eyes had nearly pinned him for Jonny's robbery. He shrank back a step, only the bookshelf between him and the entryway.

"Nic! You made it!" Stella chirped, her voice unguardedly bright. She dashed forward and, heedless of the woman's forbidding aura, wrapped her in a dripping hug. For a split second, even Nic's mask slipped; her mouth tugged into a reluctant smile and she squeezed Stella's shoulder, careful not to wrinkle her suit.

The tension in the room loosened — a little. A flurry of greetings followed. The old grocer, Sally, never one to let nerves show, extended a hand and welcomed Nic like an old regular. Bastion gave a dignified bow, eyes twinkling as if to say he'd seen bigger trouble walk into worse parties. Merry offered a plate of tea sandwiches. Even Maddie, curled up at the grooming table, simply flicked her tail, regarding the arrivals with a slow, unblinking stare.

But Jeremiah couldn't move. Every instinct screamed at him to blend into the walls, to slip behind the shelving, maybe even out the back door. Only the power of his regalia kept him from breaking out into a cold sweat.

He watched as Nic shook hands, nodded greetings, her posture a masterclass in controlled confidence. She didn't so much walk as command space, even in a room as strange as this.

He started to ease farther behind a bookshelf — anything to keep distance. But Ulrick's voice cut across the room, quiet and steady. The baker met his eyes with a reassuring look and, crossing to Jeremiah's side, leaned in.

"I invited her," Ulrick murmured, just for Jeremiah. "It's better this way. Thought it might be good to clear the air a bit. Besides, she's part of the neighborhood, lad. Best to get used to her now."

Jeremiah nodded stiffly, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. He wasn't convinced, but if Ulrick thought this was right, he'd trust him. For now, he stayed put, watching as Nic and her bodyguards entered with the unhurried ease of people who never worried about their backs.

Ben and Mac were intercepted immediately by the Grim siblings. Stella, undeterred by her earlier defeat, challenged both men to a round of arm-wrestling at the nearest table. Laughter sparked, the noise rising again.

Nic, for her part, worked the room like she'd done it a hundred times — never missing a handshake or a chance to offer a word of congratulations. Her eyes swept over everything and everyone, lingering a fraction too long on Jeremiah before she moved on. It was a calculated pause, and Jeremiah felt the weight of it in his chest.

Even so, as the party folded her in, the threat that had accompanied her arrival faded to something more ambiguous — an undercurrent in the warm sea of conversation. For the moment, at least, she was just another neighbor.

But Jeremiah didn't forget, not for a second, what she was capable of seeing.

Eventually, Nic's circuit around the shop brought her to the pastry table — now mostly occupied by the slumbering Billy, whose inky tentacles curled possessively around a tower of eclairs. Nic paused, one brow arching as she crouched for a better look.

"Well, what's this then?" she murmured, voice low and almost playful, though Jeremiah caught a razor edge beneath it. "Aren't you a curious little thing?"

Billy, as if responding to the scrutiny, cracked open a single golden eye. With practiced nonchalance, he lifted a tentacle and draped it across his face, peeking through the suckers like a child hiding behind their fingers.

Nic chuckled, but her gaze didn't move from Billy. She studied the little kraken in silence, eyes narrowing just a fraction, tracing the black sheen of his tentacles. She let her attention linger — not just with idle interest, but with the same methodical intensity Jeremiah remembered from their first meeting. There was a flicker of calculation in her stare, and for a heartbeat, Jeremiah felt as if she were measuring more than just a shop mascot.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Then her eyes slid over to Jeremiah, pinning him. "Yours, I take it?" she asked, too casually, her tone warm but her gaze unblinking. It was a gentle question, but there was an undercurrent — a searching, a testing. Jeremiah's throat felt suddenly dry. Did she recognize something? Or was she simply hunting for a reaction?

He forced a laugh, trying to sound at ease and leaning heavily on his regalia to keep a straight face. "Yeah, he's… special. Shop mascot. A handful, most days. Eats more than I do."

Nic's lips quirked, almost smirking. "That so?" She straightened, hands sliding into her pockets, still watching both Billy and Jeremiah — one eyebrow rising as if she might ask something more.

Before the tension could sharpen, Ulrick strode up, broad smile in place, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. "Nic, if you want to talk business, you know where to find me. Tonight's not for questions — tonight's for welcoming Jeremiah proper." His words were light, but his presence was firm, and he made a point of stepping between her and the pastry table.

Nic held Ulrick's gaze a heartbeat longer, then let the tension slide from her shoulders. "You're right," she conceded, mouth twitching into a sly smile. "Wouldn't want to ruin the party, would I?" She gave Billy one last look — lingering, thoughtful — before turning back to the heart of the crowd, her bodyguards falling in behind her.

Relief prickled through Jeremiah, his heart only just starting to slow. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Nic disappeared into the bustle, laughter and music swallowing her up.

Watching Nic blend effortlessly with the Market Street crowd, Jeremiah felt the brush of danger and belonging, both at once. The community might play by its own rules — and forgiveness, he realized, was as much about learning those rules as it was about moving forward. For tonight, at least, he was safe, surrounded by people willing to let the past stay in the shadows.

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Tuesday, September 27th, 2253 - 8:03 pm

Outskirts — Crossroads — Market Street.

——————————————————

People had slowly trickled out of the store as the night wore on, leaving only Jeremiah, Mero, Ulrick, and the Grim family behind.

Uno, Dos, and Tres zipped around the shop, trailing confetti and the occasional crumb. The Grim kids darted after them, whooping and diving beneath tables, determined to best the autobrooms at their own game. Ulrick leaned against the cafe counter, a fond, tired smile softening his big frame, while Mero lounged in an empty teacup, wings drooping, humming contentedly.

A tired little chime from the doorbell broke the peace. Jeremiah glanced at Ulrick, who only raised his eyebrows, the picture of polite confusion.

"I wasn't expecting anyone else," Ulrick murmured.

Neither was Jeremiah. He crossed the quiet floor and opened the door.

Standing in the glow of the porch lamp was a woman no taller than his shoulder, her wild, copper-red hair barely contained by a haphazard braid. Freckles dusted her pale skin, making her blue eyes seem all the more vivid in the dusk. Jeans, hiking boots, an oversized sweater and a trench coat — she looked, for a moment, like she'd stepped out of one of Jeremiah's better memories.

Samantha.

Jeremiah stopped cold, heart hammering. "Sam—" Her name stuck in his throat, and for a moment, all he could do was stare.

Sam's grin was as stubborn and familiar as ever. "Hey, Jerry. You gonna leave me freezing out here all night, or what?"

He managed to snap out of it. "Right, sorry. Come in, come in!" He stepped aside, his voice tripping awkwardly as she slipped past him.

As Sam stepped inside, Ulrick caught Jeremiah's eye and tipped his head. "Grimlings!" he called, too brightly, "winner gets first pick of the day-old bread, but only if you clean up before I finish counting to thirty!"

The Grim kids exploded into action, pulling Merry and Mani along. Mero zipped after them, gleefully shouting about "fair competition." When the shop was near spotless less than a minute later, Ulrick winked at Jeremiah, and swept everyone else out the door, leaving Jeremiah and Sam alone in the gentle light of the shop.

Silence settled in the wake of the exodus, punctuated only by Tres's quiet buzzing as he cleaned around Billy's still-snoring bowl.

Jeremiah cleared his throat. "You, uh, heard there was a party?"

Sam shrugged out of her coat, hanging it neatly. "Didn't know there'd be one. Paul said you visited. Figured if I waited for you to call, we'd both be collecting pension checks first." She took in the shop — warm lights, neat shelving, the smell of tea and pastry lingering in the air. "Place looks good, Jerry. Really good."

A flush crept up Jeremiah's cheeks. "Thanks. Didn't do it alone."

She nodded, stepping toward the window to look out over the moonlit courtyard. "They seem like good people. I'm glad you found them." There was warmth in her voice, but an ache beneath it, a melancholy that tugged at him.

"Sam, I didn't—" He began, but Sam stopped him with a small wave of her hand.

She leaned against the window, arms folded, her gaze steady. "I'm not here to yell at you for vanishing, if that's what you're worried about. But it hurt, Jerry. All this time, and not even a message?" She searched for the right words, running her fingers through her tangled hair, the silence stretching.

She met his eyes, voice low and serious. "If you want to make it up to me, it's not going to be easy."

Jeremiah's breath caught.

Sam's serious look softened into a smirk. "You can start by telling me about this 'deal' you told Paul about."

Relief hit Jeremiah so hard his knees nearly gave. Sam burst out laughing at his expression, and — after a beat — Jeremiah found himself laughing too, the knot in his chest finally loosening.

"Ya… that sounds nice." Jeremiah finally managed once the laughter stopped.

He walked over to the cafe and poured them both a fresh cup of tea while Sam sat at one of the nearby tables. Jeremiah sat down across from her and handed her the cup.

They sat there in silence for a long moment, simply nursing their drinks.

Despite how dark it was getting, something told Jeremiah it was going to be a long night. And for the first time in a long time… that didn't scare him.

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