Months passed and it was early spring. The café's warm aroma wrapped the morning in a gentle hush. Steam rose in soft swirls from the cappuccino machine as Ivan stood behind Alric, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, their breaths soft and synchronized.
"Steady," Ivan murmured, guiding Alric's hand as he tilted the milk jug. "Pour from the center... and swirl gently."
"Why does yours always look like a damn Pinterest post," Alric muttered, pouting slightly.
Ivan chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Because I have magic fingers," he teased, bumping his shoulder against Alric's. "But don't worry. I'm about to share my secrets with you, young apprentice."
Alric rolled his eyes. "Just because you can draw hearts in foam doesn't make you Picasso, coffee-boy."
"You wound me," Ivan clutched his chest dramatically. "I'm a man of many talents. You'll see."
He poured the milk with calculated grace, his hand steady as a heart began to take form on the surface. Then, gently, he guided Alric's fingers on the cup. "Now... tilt the cup like this, swirl, and—press."
A heart slowly bloomed in the foam—slightly off-center and tilted, but recognizable.
Alric blinked. "That's… actually not terrible."
Ivan grinned. "It's a disaster. But it's your disaster, baby."
Alric turned crimson. "God, you're insufferable."
"I know," Ivan murmured, voice dropping. "You like me that way."
Alric flushed. "Shut up."
Ivan leaned down, "Make me."
They were inches apart now, Ivan leaning in, about to steal a kiss, when the bell above the door jingled sharply.
Mackiah stepped inside, his golden-blonde hair ruffled by wind, his coat dusted with light snow. "Well, well… Should I be taking notes or giving you privacy?"
Ivan pulled back, smirking. "Come on in, golden boy. Want me to draw a heart for you too?"
Mackiah chuckled, but there was a weariness to him today. "Nah. I'm already carrying one. Might be a little bruised though. "Well, look at you two domestic baristas. Didn't know café work came with flirting lessons."
"I didn't know working in the police force came with sarcasm," Alric shot back, smirking.
Mackiah flopped onto a stool, sighing. "It's part of our survival training."
Just then, Kyrell appeared from the kitchen, apron tied over a soft gray sweater, his dark blue hair slightly tousled and his ice-blue eyes lighting up the room.
"Mack," Kyrell greeted warmly, walking over. "You're early today."
"Needed the comfort," Mackiah murmured. Without hesitation, he leaned into Kyrell's side as if drawn by instinct, resting his head gently against Kyrell's shoulder.
Kyrell paused for only a second, then wrapped an arm around Mackiah's waist with a reassuring squeeze. "What happened?"
Mackiah sighed, eyes drifting to the floor. "I got transferred."
Alric looked up from his cup. "To where?"
Mackiah hesitated, then said quietly, "Sector 17."
The café fell into sudden stillness. Even the soft music in the background seemed to hush.
Kyrell's grip tightened. "The Dead End?"
Mackiah nodded. "Yeah."
Ivan's brow furrowed. "That sector's sealed tighter than a vault. It holds everything—classified underworld records, black ops, hidden networks. No one comes out of there the same."
"I know," Mackiah muttered, lips curving bitterly. "That's kind of the point."
"Do you know who sent the order?" Alric asked carefully.
Mackiah shook his head. "Not yet. But someone up top either wants to bury me or force me into something."
"Maybe they're hoping you'll disappear into the files and never come back," Ivan muttered.
"I've got no intention of disappearing," Mackiah replied. He lifted his gaze to Kyrell and added softly, "Not when there's someone I want to come home to."
Kyrell's cheeks flushed faintly, but his smile was firm. "Then you better. Or I'll come drag you back myself."
The tension broke just a little as Mackiah chuckled. "I'd pray to see that."
Ivan slid a warm drink across the counter toward Mackiah. "Drink. Recharge. You're going to need all the energy you can get if you're heading into hell."
"And if I find some demons down there," Mackiah said with a spark in his golden eyes, "maybe I'll drag them into the light too."
Ivan raised his cup. "Now that sounds like a plan."
The golden hour had passed, and a soft dimness settled in the café. String lights above flickered like stardust, casting a warm amber glow on the polished wood counter.
Kyrell slid a notepad into the drawer and grabbed the shopping list from the counter. "We're low on milk, berries, and flour again. Ivan, you good to head out?"
Ivan tossed a towel over his shoulder and joined Kyrell, tugging on his jacket. "Yeah, let's get it done before the cold sets in."
As they walked down the quiet alley beside the café, Kyrell kept pace, hands tucked in his coat pockets. The streetlamps buzzed faintly overhead. A distant dog barked. The winter air curled around them in lazy tendrils.
Ivan's voice broke the silence, low and worried. "Mackiah's been transferred to Sector 17…"
Kyrell turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
Ivan continued, "…You know what that place is called, right? 'Dead End.' Nobody comes back from there. No transfers. No communications. And… what if he finds out?"
Kyrell blinked, blue eyes glinting beneath his dark lashes.
Ivan's tone dipped lower, anxiety laced in every word. "The café... all of this... it's just a quiet pause, Ky. Not a reset. I've warned you many times, didn't I? That it's dangerous to fall in love with a cop! Both you and him will have to face grave dangers from the shadows hidden. This is kind of a forbidden love."
Kyrell remained quiet for a moment, then exhaled softly. "Maybe not now," he finally said, eyes fixed ahead. "But one day, he'll know. He deserves to. And there's no way I can just ignore my feelings, doesn't matter what comes, I'll protect him with my life. I'll never leave him."
Ivan looked like he wanted to say more, but something in the shadows behind them caught his attention. A faint scuff. A whisper of movement.
His hand shot out to Kyrell's arm.
"…We're being followed."
Kyrell didn't hesitate. He glanced around, then muttered, "Left—through the alley."
They turned quickly, slipping into the narrow darkness between two old buildings. Their movements were silent, fluid. Within seconds, they were gone.
A cloaked figure emerged onto the sidewalk moments later, pausing where they had just stood. He scanned the street—empty.
He raised a communicator to his lips and hissed, "They disappeared… again."
Location: Subterranean Chamber beneath a ruined cathedral
Darkness cloaked the underground citadel. Caelon Stravok, Nerik Virelock, and leaders of global clans sat around a stone table, tension hanging like a guillotine.
"No heir, no Zeus," Caelon declared. "Aetherion Kronos must fall. This silence from Aetherion Kronos—it's not right. Zeus sleeps. His heir, gone. The Serpents hide. They're vulnerable. If we strike now, we take the throne. No one stands in our way."
"But what if Lucifer returns?" Nerik countered. "He's stronger than the Serpents. Stronger than all of us, even the Joker."
A voice drifted from the shadows.
"He won't."
Aurek Skalvarn stepped forward, fire glinting in his eyes. He tossed a holo-message onto the table. Joker's voice echoed:
> "Lucifer? Took care of him. He's history x‿x"
Aurek smirked. "Now, only the Silver Serpents remain."
"They'll rise if we attack." Nerik stated.
"Then we bring our armies. I've allied with the Germans and Iranians" Caelon cracked his knuckles.
Nerik nodded. "The French and Turkish underworlds will march with me"
"And you? Who are you recruiting?" Nerik asked Aurek.
"Why borrow men… when you can build monsters?
I'll recruit my army myself," Aurek said with a dangerous grin.
Even the seasoned warlords stiffened.
At The Café -
Kyrell and Ivan came back to the café, smoothly escaping from the stalker. Mackiah was there, chatting with Alric as he worked on something important. Just then, the muted television above the bar flickered as the news rolled in.
A well-dressed Evelyn appeared on screen, seated in an overly plush chair with fake tears brimming in her eyes.
"...My son has suffered immense emotional trauma after the tragic loss of his father. He is currently mentally unwell, withdrawn from all responsibilities. As his mother and as a former board advisor, I've decided to step forward for the sake of Halovex's future. I shall offer myself as a candidate for CEO in the board meeting scheduled for next week."
The café fell silent.
Alric stood up slowly, fists clenched. His expression darkened as he stared at the screen, then at the others.
"She's going to destroy everything he worked for," he muttered. "All of it... everything my father bled to build. She's going to crush his legacy under her heel."
He turned, eyes burning with determination. "But I'm no longer letting that happen."
Mackiah stood, worried. "Alric—what are you planning?"
Alric looked each of them in the eyes.
"I've got a Plan. One I've kept quiet for a long time."
He let out a breath. "And I'll need all of you. You'll help me out, right?"
Ivan smirked and cracked his knuckles. "You even have to ask?"
Kyrell smiled, placing the groceries down. "We've got your back."
Mackiah just nodded. "Let's burn the witch down. Plan B: To Be Executed soon." He smirked.