Milo couldn't breathe.
He stared at his name glowing on the ledger page, each letter pulsing faintly, like it was alive—like it was waiting.
"Milo," Yara said, her voice softer now, "listen to me."
But Milo stepped back. The room felt too small, the ledgers too many, the air too thin.
"I never asked for this," he said. "I didn't want any of this."
"Fate doesn't ask," Yara replied. "It chooses."
Milo shook his head."No. The café chose me."
Yara didn't deny it.
Instead, she led him back to the main room. The café looked different now—brighter in places, darker in corners, like it was reacting to his presence.
"Long before either of us," Yara said, "there were others who served here. The café doesn't pick baristas because they can make coffee. It picks them because they're… malleable. Untethered. People whose paths can bend without breaking."
"Untethered?" Milo echoed. "What does that mean?"
She hesitated, then answered:
"You have no predetermined future."
The words hit him harder than any supernatural event so far.
"No future? What does that—how—?"
"Milo," she said, stepping closer, "you weren't supposed to drink the Eclipse Blend. Even a drop severs you from any single fate. You became… free. And dangerous."
The lights flickered overhead.The cold brew tower rumbled softly.
"Dangerous how?" Milo whispered.
"Fate depends on threads," Yara said. "But you don't have one anymore. You can't be predicted, nudged, or anchored. That makes you a threat to anything that follows rules."
A chill crawled up Milo's spine.
"Like the thing behind the door?" he asked.
Yara's eyes darkened."Yes. Some things work outside fate—but they don't like competition."
Milo swallowed hard.
"What does the café want from me?" he asked.
"To keep fate moving," Yara said. "To tie loose ends. To balance what the Eclipse Blend broke."
"Why me?" Milo asked again, voice cracking.
"Because the café thinks you can do it."She paused."And because it's too late for anyone else."
The door rattled suddenly.Just once.Hard.
Milo jumped, heart leaping into his throat.
The whisper from yesterday seeped through the bottom of the door again.
"Ba… rista…"
The room went cold.
Yara grabbed his wrist."Milo—listen to me. Whatever's calling you? It isn't fate. Don't open that door."
Milo nodded.
But something told him the door wouldn't wait forever.