The darkness inside the café wasn't normal. It had weight. Texture. A slow, thick pulse, like something alive was breathing just beyond the edges.
Milo couldn't see Yara, but he could feel her grip tighten around his wrist.
"Don't move," she whispered.
A soft creaking sound echoed through the room—wood bending, shelves shifting, the café itself adjusting like it sensed a change in its own gravity.
Then the voice returned.
Low. Velvet-smooth. Almost kind.
"Milo… you don't belong to fate anymore."
The words echoed strangely, bouncing off corners the room didn't normally have. Milo's pulse hammered, each beat a spike of fear.
"Show yourself," he said, though his voice shook.
A faint glow ignited near the door—silver like moonlight on water. It slowly expanded into a tall, thin silhouette. No features. No face. Just a shape carved from shimmering thread.
Yara sucked in a breath."Milo… don't talk to it."
But the figure stepped closer, and the café shifted with it. Lights overhead flickered back on slowly, as if forced awake. The shelves stopped rattling. The cold brew tower went silent.
Fate Café wasn't in control.This thing was.
"What are you?" Milo asked.
The figure tilted its head, unraveling slightly—threads pulling loose in delicate wisps.
"I am the Weaver," it said. "The one who watches threads. The one who ties what must be tied… and cuts what must be cut."
Yara stepped in front of Milo, voice sharp."He isn't yours."
The Weaver ignored her.
"You, Milo Reyes, are… impossible."
Milo swallowed. "Why?"
"Because you have no thread."Its voice tightened. "And everything must have a thread."
The café groaned, walls bending as they agreed.
"You are a tear in the Loom," the Weaver continued. "You were meant to be anchored by fate… but the Eclipse Blend severed you."
Yara's hands curled into fists."That was an accident."
"There are no accidents," the Weaver replied. "Only interruptions."
It extended a thread-thin arm toward Milo.
"You must choose a fate. Now. Before the tear widens."
Milo froze.
Choose?A fate?Like a drink order?
"What happens if I don't choose?" he whispered.
"Then the futures currently overlapping will collapse," the Weaver said. "The city will fracture. People will multiply or vanish. Time will fold. Reality will thin."
Yara stepped between them again."You can't force him."
The Weaver's form vibrated, threads unraveling at the edges.
"If he doesn't choose," it said,"The café will."
The lights flickered violently.Jars rattled.Chairs skidded.
The café was waking up, wanting an answer.
"Milo," Yara said softly, turning to him, "don't listen. Fate always wants to control. But you—"
A loud crack sliced through her sentence.
The cold brew tower split straight down the middle.
The Eclipse Blend poured upward again—defying gravity—forming a twisting black ribbon between Milo and the Weaver.
The Weaver hissed.
"That drink should not exist."
The Eclipse Blend spiraled tighter, darting between them like a living shadow defending Milo. Then—
It struck the Weaver directly.
A blinding flash erupted.
The Weaver recoiled, its threads fraying, body flickering like a shorting light.
"Milo Reyes…" it snarled, voice distorted."You are an abomination."
The Weaver snapped—and vanished.
The lights stabilized.
The café exhaled.
And Milo collapsed to his knees, shaking.
Yara crouched beside him."You did well," she whispered.
"I didn't do anything," he rasped.
But the Eclipse Blend still floated in the air, a thin dark ribbon circling Milo protectively.
"No," Yara said softly."You didn't."She looked at the swirling shadow."But it did."