The golden light pouring from the stranger's eyes wasn't warm. It wasn't comforting. It was sharp—like staring into the sun too long, like truth stripped of mercy. Milo stepped back instinctively as the air around the man shimmered, bending like heat off asphalt.
The stranger staggered, clutching the counter as if the ground itself might vanish beneath him. Amara watched closely, her expression unreadable. The café had grown impossibly silent. No hum of machinery, no whisper of wind. Not even the lights dared to flicker.
"What… what is this?" the man choked, voice trembling. "I—I can't tell if I'm remembering or… seeing."
"The Reconciliation Brew doesn't show futures," Amara said quietly. "It shows the truth between two people—the parts both sides never understood."
The man's breath quickened. "My brother…"His eyes widened suddenly, and he shot upright, gasping as if yanked from underwater. His voice cracked. "He thought—he thought I betrayed him."
Milo felt his stomach twist.
The stranger's voice shook with disbelief and pain. "He thought I stole money from him years ago. That I ruined his marriage. That I lied about him to the police." His hands trembled violently. "But I didn't. I didn't do any of it."
A tear rolled down his cheek, catching the golden light and turning silver as it fell.
Milo swallowed. "Then why did he think that?"
The man's jaw clenched, and for a moment he couldn't answer. The truth formed slowly—painfully—behind his eyes.
"Because…" He inhaled sharply, as though the words themselves cut. "Because I let him believe it. Because I wasn't there to defend myself. Because I kept disappearing, kept choosing my addictions, my messes, over him." He pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. "He thought I did those things because I never showed him otherwise."
Amara stepped closer. "Reconciliation isn't forgiveness. It's clarity. You are seeing what stood between you. What both of you created."
The glow began to dim—not disappearing, but softening, settling into the man's eyes like embers cooling after a long burn.
The stranger wiped his face with his sleeve, breathing hard. "He thinks he's toxic to me. That if he stays in my life, he'll drag me down." He shook his head. "He doesn't know he's the only thing that ever pulled me up."
Milo felt the weight of guilt press into him again. His mistake—the Eclipse Blend—had triggered all of this. One cup. One moment. A chain reaction spiraling out into people's lives.
The man turned to Milo slowly. "Can… can I fix this?"
Milo opened his mouth, but no answer came.He didn't know.He wasn't sure anyone knew.
Amara answered instead. "The café cannot change your futures. Only reveal them. What you do with clarity is yours alone."
The man nodded once—slow, resolute. The fear in his eyes had changed. It was no longer panic; it was determination. "I need to find him."
He turned toward the door, but before he stepped through, he paused and looked back at Milo. "Thank you," he said, voice steady. "Even if it hurts, thank you."
Then he left.The bell chimed softly behind him—no rattle, no tremor. Just a clean, simple chime.
Milo stood frozen for a moment, processing everything he had just seen. Everything he had caused. He finally sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. "Amara… I don't know if I'm cut out for this."
Amara didn't comfort him. She didn't promise he'd get better or that mistakes were normal.She simply sat across from him and said, "The café agrees with you."
Milo's head snapped up. "What does that mean?"
She gestured around them. The lights dimmed. The shadows lengthened. The air pressed heavier. The café wasn't angry—but it was wary. Watching him with caution rather than trust.
"You broke a rule you didn't know existed," Amara said softly. "And the Eclipse Blend is still out there. The man you created it for is only the first ripple. Others are spreading."
Milo's pulse quickened. "What do I do?"
"You learn," she said. "Faster than anyone before you. Because if another mistake happens…"She looked him in the eyes."…the café won't protect you next time."
The bell above the door suddenly chimed again, sharp and urgent.
A new customer stepped in.But this time, the café reacted first—slamming the door shut behind them.
Milo's breath caught.
The next ripple had arrived.