In the past few weeks, it has seemed as if every second, every minute, and every day have been endless. The demons of my nightmare would walk at night, and grief and woe would reign during the day.

And if there is something that I have learned about grief, it is that the loss of a loved one never truly goes away; instead, people learn to cope with it and accept it into their lives.

The gossip mill got another prey as the demise of my mom no longer was the talk of the town. Yet I stayed grief-stricken, unable to completely take it in. Putting up with more shifts felt like the only loophole.

My mom had left us with our dad when I was only four and my brother was only two, but that didn't help ease my grief over losing her.

There is only one clear and vivid memory I have of her, and that is of the day she left. I remember how she kissed my forehead and bent down to my ear as if telling me a secret.

Trust no one of the same blood; you're to depend on yourself.,' she whispered in my ear, and I stared at her.

A thousand emotions hid deep within those dark brown eyes as she stared back at me. For a brief moment, I thought she was about to cry as I saw her blink away the tears in her eyes.

But I was never able to undermine the meaning behind those words. I felt like what she said had a deeper meaning than what suffices.

In every conversation I or Everard had with our dad about why she had left, he would always refuse to answer. I took a deep breath to calm my racing thoughts.

A dry laugh escaped my lips as I discerned that these extra shifts wouldn't be of much help anymore.

The sunlight blazed into the window glasses and struck the cafe with hues of gold and orange, blending perfectly with the tangerine cushions and coffee-brown tables.

Despite the cold, rainy weather outside on the outskirts of Kertnigh, the cafe was warm and cozy, brimming with customers who came in to warm themselves.

Aromas wafting around the room probably had everyone's mouths watering as I worked on the plates piled up high on the sink in vibrant colors.

A couple of people lounged on the cushions, laughing and chatting as they chewed on their snacks. Many others worked on their laptops and tablets while they sipped their coffee or tea.

As the light shines in, it reflects off the various colored teapots and coffee mugs that line the shelves, creating swirls of color that make the coffee shop seem much bigger than it is.

The blaring ringtone of my phone startled me. I glanced at the caller ID, indicating that it was my boss. I grumbled. It was the last thing I wanted to deal with right now.

Biting my tongue, I managed to keep my voice semi-respectful. "Hello sir."

"I thought I told you not to pick up that damn phone when you're working!" He hissed through the phone.

I frowned. "But sir, you were-"

"Did I or did I not?" He asked, his voice heavy and stern.

I gritted my teeth. "Yes, sir, you did." My eyes twitched. This guy was going to be the death of me.

"Good. Now back to work." The call ended abruptly. I seethed at my phone, controlling the urge to split it into two.

"This arse of a man; if this job wasn't my only scope of living, I would have sued his sad excuse of a boss." I fell back on a chair nearby.

Neveah came through the door just in time. "What happened now?" She asked, seeing my exasperated expression.

"Mr. Funk called." It was enough to brith a grimace, followed by a shudder in Neveah.

"And what did he want?"

"He just called to warn me not to answer the phone calls."

Neveah snorted. "That man must be so bored if he has that much time." I shrugged before turning a skeptical eye at her.

"You seem happy."

Neveah's face exploded with joy as she sent me a wicked grin. "You know that Karen that comes by every day?" I nodded. "Today, when she argued about something again," she looked like she was barely containing it as she awaited my reply.

"And?"

"I added laxatives to her food."

"What?" I asked her, stunned. "That could get you fired!"

"It was a mild one."

"Where did you even get that thing?"

"I always carry it with me; most of the time, I store it in a medical cabinet." She laughed wickedly before heading to take another order.

I shook my head, letting out a tired sigh, and rolled my neck from side to side to loosen the kinks. I had two more hours to go until my shift ended. I headed out again to collect the dirty dishes from the empty tables. Spotting one near the corner, I strolled towards it.

I noticed a couple who sat perpendicular to the table I was working on. Their stances seemed secluded as they sat near the corner, far from everyone. They were leaning on each other and, as evidenced by their expressions, having a private conversation.

A piece of paper flew away from their table to the air when the air conditioner positioned right beside them decided to give a blow of tender freedom. Unnoticed by the couple, it flew and danced in the air and twirled around like a magical ballerina until it landed near me, the front facing the ground. I went to pick it up and turned it in my hand.

The painting on the parchment glistened in the light as I picked it up. The delicate strokes felt seemingly fresh and lively. The parchment was adorned with a thick layer of paint that had not yet dried off completely but was well enough not to stain.

I tilted my head quizzically. Since when did people start to use paintings for wanted posters?

I stared at the wanted poster of a girl. I frowned at the familiar features, the whisky-colored curls in combination with olive-colored skin, the cold and empty gray eyes reminiscent of my father...

I gulped. It was me.

My eyes switched back to the couple in an instant. As expected, I found the tattoo engraved at the nape of the man's neck partially exposed as he leaned in to speak to the woman.

It suddenly made more sense as to why this picture was painted. They only had an old picture of me at the time when my brother was born. They might have calculated the time from there and assumed my age and appearance with it, then painted it with the help of a painter.

The strained expressions of hatred and pure disgust tainted their faces to the core, as if something rotten was lurking around with each word they spoke, which was, without a doubt, about me.

Not being able to contain my curiosity, I slowly neared them. I held the paper tight in my hand as I moved on to work on the table beside them.

In my peripheral vision, I saw the man's eyes flicker to the side, searching for the source of disturbance before they eventually fell over me. Then they lowered their voices so low that I had trouble picking them up.

"...the plan will work. And we'll have her before..." a large, beefy man said to the woman who accompanied him.

However, the woman didn't seem satisfied. Her forehead creased as she spoke.

"That's 'if' everything goes according to plan. Do you think we'll find her after all?" The woman replied, agitated.

Her voice was raising a pitch higher on par with her temperament, allowing me to eavesdrop perfectly on what she was saying. The woman was tall and a bit bony, and she sat in a cross-legged manner.

She continued, leaning closer to him, "It's been ages since someone last saw her; there're rumors that she has died or even been hunted down."

The man wore casual clothes, heavily contrasting with his female companion, who wore posh clothes, and her perfectly manicured nails glimmered in the light.

"I don't think she has; that girl has managed to sneak off and fool all of us. Even though she may not have truly developed her powers," the man replied, raising his voice too. "She's a smart one. Who knows, maybe she could be the one who even spread those rumors."

My eyes widened slightly as I heard the familiar narration of the story.

Upon the realization, fear slowly intensified, filling my veins to a possible limit and frantically passing messages to my brain to acknowledge them. The more I heard, the stronger it grew.

"What if that girl's lying? Why aren't you even considering that?" The woman pressed on.

"Haven't you even read the poster?" The man spat at her, searching for the wanted poster. "We've clearly stated that false accusations will lead to greater consequences," the man continued, clearly getting irritated as he searched through the papers for that poster in my hands.

With caution, I slowly took each step toward the couple. My hands were getting clammy as my heart started thudding even faster. Putting on my waiter's smile, I neared them.

"Is this what you're searching for, sir?" I asked politely, facing the man. My hands were incredibly shaky as I extended them toward them.

Upon my sudden arrival, the couple looked up and met my gaze as the man replied. I felt both of them tense under me. In response to my appearance, the woman's eyes creased slightly; her gaze seemed judgy, and she immediately retracted her hand from the table to rest her chin on it. The man looked at me with beady eyes, not bothering to show how disturbed I made him feel.

"Oh! Thank you," the man replied, flashing me a very well-fake, covered-up smile, "and you can take the bill." He continued, waving his hand at me, trying to get rid of me. I looked at another piece of paper on the table that held a painting of another person.

My heart stilled for a second.

Mother.

A picture of my mother painted ten years ago flashed before me. The last thing I heard of her was that she was dead.

But why did they have her painting? They all knew she was dead, murdered by their own hands. I was supposed to burn every single picture of her.

It was the only thing left for my mother. I should've burned it then.

The man put the picture away and eyed me suspiciously. His body angled away from me as he kept it out of sight.

"I'll be getting your bill now, sir." I immediately stepped back and gave the couple a polite nod before turning away.

Terror spread my body like a disease, making my nerves go haywire. I wanted to scream, but my brain started clouding my mind with memories. No, not memories, but utter living nightmares that were too much for my little thirteen-year-old self to face.

I felt my insides twisting and turning into a hard knot of nerves with each step I took. The walk to the counter felt longer than ever, as I struggled to maintain composure as I still felt that couple's eyes on me.

Collapsing behind the counter, I saw Nevaeh rush towards me as she noticed my deranged state. She jogged towards me from the counter, her worried, crystal-blue eyes met mine.

"Alessia!" she whispered, not wanting to disturb the customers. "What happened? Are you okay? I just saw you running off with that couple there a minute ago. Is everything alright?" She kept on shooting out different questions at me with her muddy brown gaze.

I breathed out, a word lost somewhere in the exhale. I stared at the floor as I recalled the picture. Those very gray eyes and that brunette hair—no wonder I found it so familiar.

Before I could form a reply for Nevaeh, Elowen came busting through the door. She stared at both of us with raised eyebrows. Her long brown hair was braided into four as her matching blue hairband looped around it securely. Her physique was that of a gymnast with a lithe body, unlike Nevaeh's petite and pale figure.

"So," Elowen stiffened as she described the scene. "What did I miss?" she asked with a quick bark of an awkward light laugh.