A shift in her demeanor was evident; from a recluse, Bel had transformed into a seeker; every day, she'd come in, return Iris's greetings, get settled in her office, then peek outside and observe. The myriad of documents she had combed through seemed endless. Files, handwritten notes, digital bytes of data - Bel had scrutinized all sorts, save for people.

Today, she decided to subtly position herself closer to a shadowed corner of the cafe. There, bathed in soft light, sat an imposing figure in frayed cotton and denim. His fingers intermittently danced through his flaming auburn locks, which to Bel seemed almost timed with the sound of ice rattling in the shaker Iris was wielding. Between these moments, he would take deliberate drags from a meticulously crafted cigarette, each puff seemingly laden with contemplation. He stubbed his cigarette on the heel of his boot and pocketed it, and when he eventually decided to sit himself at the bar, Bel hastily claimed the stool next to his.

Without a word, Iris slid him some sort of liqueur in a whiskey glass, and to Bel a tall glass of water.

The silence weighed heavy. Bel's eyes discreetly traced the serious contours of the man's face, his gaze piercing through Iris, who didn't seem to notice. He would look up at her, then back down at his darkening drink intermittently. Amidst this, Bel's fingers played with her notebook. It was only when she gently cracked it open that he let out an unexpected chuckle.

"Crow's anger is messin' with the whole village's internet connection. Kid's makin' it difficult to catch up on the outside world."

Bel swiftly recorded his words.

"Ah..." he took a sip and looked fondly at his drink, pleasantly surprised.

"A Mr. Black Espresso Martini, without the dainty glass." For a split second, regret flashed in his gaze as he looked up at Iris.

"It's okay, Henry," she giggled, "I told you I forgave you already."

Bel turned to Wolf. "What happened?" Scratching his sideburns as if to fill the silence, he sighed, "Martini glasses broke. Whole shelf. My fault entirely. That's all you need to know."

Silence again. Their now wordless conversation didn't escape Iris. Though they never clarified their intentions, their mutual understanding was evident: Bel knew that despite their current strife, he was the caretaker, and he knew that she was still seeking information, and that she was particularly good at finding it.

"You know I disapprove," he stated plainly, looking straight ahead.

"I know, Wolf." She set her notebook aside.

"But that snake, Sam..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted to the left, and Bel followed his gaze. There was Sam, standing near the window, his face mostly obstructed by a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"That bastard!" He barked, slamming his fist against the bar. Iris popped open a dark beer and set it next to his drink. He gave her a small 'thank you, love' before taking a swig. Bel leaned closer to him.

"Sam?" No answer. She tried another approach:

"You understand things are different now, right?"

"No." He finally looked at Bel, nodding towards the tables outside where Galatea was currently working. "I will say, I am reassured by her man's carelessness, albeit accidental." His laugh didn't last longer than a sigh, and Bel took note of his dimples. "I'm not wordin' this right, I've never been good with words."

Bel smiled, "You're trying to say that he's not as obsessive as the others."

He nodded, and handed her his phone, a Nokia with a cracked screen. A message was there, from an unknown american number. The words seemed to jitter through the screen.

"'You know I won't let you disappear.'"

"Yup," he took a sip of his coffee, "this was meant for your sister at the shrine."

Bel looked away, reaching for her water. She was reminded of the shrine at night, and what had happened afterwards. Her surroundings seemed to faintly glow, and any details in the distance seemingly blurred together. She confirmed that she was still wearing her glasses.

"Stop clenching your jaw," Wolf pointed out, handing her his beer. "It's going to be okay."

Bel changed the subject. "Say I recorded this conversation and showed it to him," Bel tentatively spoke, "is there anything you'd like him to know?"

"No."

Bel narrowed her eyes, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Iris giggled, her gaze fondly landing on Wolf. She set the bottle of syrup she was using aside and gently leaned towards him.

"Henry..." She didn't have to say anything else for Wolf to rethink his position, but she still did. "You would be doing something helpful for all of us."

He took another sip, this time of the beer. "'Aight. Sam isn't playing fair. He protects our folks from outsiders, yeah, but he's been doin' it selectively, and only when it amuses him. That ain't right. He's helpful sometimes..." he looked back at Iris, "but he also causes unnecessary harm. Ain't nothing we can do to demote him because he's so vital: he makes it possible for us to stand up for ourselves. And Jacen's the same but with folks on the inside," this time, he looked at Bel, "things get weird when you're on the inside. You do stupid things. He's there to make you understand you fucked up."

"You do that too sometimes," Bel nodded at his bandaged hand, a stark white patch against his rosy skin. He glared at her.

"'Lifeline' doesn't need to know these things."

"He knows," she sighed, "he was told it was more your style to punch that Mars's." Wolf shook his head.

"Nah, 'Mars' does it as well, the difference is that the trajectory of 'her' hand is controlled, purposeful. She drags it across- you get the point. No need to paint a picture-" he looked down, "hell, I hadn't noticed you got back to writing. You're sneaky."

"And I hadn't noticed you were done with your beer until now," Bel chuckled, putting her notebook down again.

They sat in silence again, until Wolf set some change on the counter and stood up. Bel followed suit.

"Thank you for your time, Henry."

"And thank you for your dilligence." They shook hands, then Wolf closed the distance between them. Bel could see the brown specks in his olive eyes, partially obstructed by the reflection of what looked like distant purple fairy lights.

He leaned in to whisper, "I still haven't changed my mind, Credence." He downed his drink.

"But you helped-" Bel protested, before Wolf cut her off. "Sam and Jace are scumbags. I don't mind sharing this sort of intel, but backstories are classified. He doesn't get to know what makes us tick nor what put us on this Earth."

He set his now empty glass down and turned to leave, but Bel wasn't done yet. "What if he was helpful, what then? What if you saw that he genuinely helped one of us-"

As Wolf cut her off, his voice grew lower, and each word was carefully pronounced.

"You would put such a burden on the man you love?" He wasn't looking at her anymore. "We do not ask for help. We signed a creed in blood and ink."

Bel, taken aback by Wolf's sudden change in demeanor, stammered:

"Your clique signed a creed in blood-"

"You were born from it. You're an embodiment of it." He snarled. "You want a backstory to share? Fine. Bel, you were supposed to be the one to follow it. The creed. Baltasar did. Look at your left hand."

The once faint glow that adorned her surroundings grew brighter.

"I know what's on my left hand." The taste of ink and rust filled her mouth as she looked down, blinded by the lights. But Wolf, seemingly unaffected, spoke before she managed to utter a plea for help.

"Do ya? You know what else is on there? Blood, Bel, you've got blood on your h-" Before he could finish his sentence, a third party stepped between the both of them dressed in what Bel could make out to be a black hat and a poncho.

"Balt is on holiday."

"Credence?"

Bel rubbed her eyes behind her glasses. The lights were gone. She was still seated at the bar, her glass of water untouched. She quickly turned towards Wolf, who was sipping his espresso martini, no beer in sight.

"Oi, Credence. Credence!" It was Franz, which now brought the count to three red-haired patrons at the bar. Iris seemed to find this amusing.

"Franz? What just happened..." Had she dozed off? She flipped open her notebook, only to find a singular entry written in burgundy ink: 'Best not dig too deep'. She tried to remember who had showed up last, in vain: she didn't get the time to take a good look at their face.

She recomposed herself and paid attention to Franz, who had kept talking despite the archivist's confusion.

"...and I never even got a thank you for it! I'd just appreciate to hear a 'Thanks for the assist, Franz! You're so cool and awesome!'" He wildly gestured with his hands as he spoke.

"You've spent too much time with Crow," Bel smiled. Franz mirrored her.

"She naps, I nap." He frowned. "We used to be so close. But I can barely remember..."

"It'll come back to you," Bel reassured him, quickly mouthing 'two espressos' to Iris, "do you want to take a look at the archives? It might help."

As the pair approached the office, Iris's gaze was immediately drawn to the door as a horned figure fluttered into the bar. As the figure came closer, she recognized Crow by her distinctive black hair, which always seemed to curl upwards, and her dark attire. The temperature in the room seemed to drop with every quiet step Crow took towards the bar.

"Cold brew," her voice was low and resonated, cutting through the ambient noise. She then turned her back to the bar, gliding to the other end of the cafe. As she did, every sound around her became amplified — the scrape of a chair, the hushed conversations, even the soft sigh of the espresso machine. Carefully, she nested herself cross-legged in the corner where Wolf had been just moments before, the sound of her clothes rustling against the leather distinct to her ears.

The clock on the wall ticked 4 PM. Crow's attention shifted when Galatea rustled in, the ends of her scarf trailing behind her like a peacock's tail. She briefly exchanged whispers with Iris, and before Crow knew it, her cold brew landed with a thud on her table. As Galatea's pale hand squeaked around the glass, hesitating a beat too long before letting go, her drawn-out movements allowed Crow to catch the sharp scent of mint emanating from her. Suddenly sensing imminent danger, Crow slowly raised her eyes to meet Galatea's. She was taken aback by the waitress's distant cold gaze, who only had these words to say to her:

"He's a liar. You're more important than God." And with that, she spun away, the echo of her footsteps eerily lingering throughout the room, leaving Crow with a puzzled look on her face and something to ponder on.

Things quieted down for a moment. Crow slid her headphones on. She didn't get the occasion to pick a song before the scent of mint nauseated her again.

"Gala-"

"Miss me?"

Her eyes shot up in a panic. She yanked her headphones off, hastily setting them between her crossed legs and moving her disheveled hair off her face. "You!" she hissed, wide-eyed.

The walls seemed to close in around her. All ambient sounds converged, forming a singular, overwhelming cacophony, before dying down into a quiet buzz. Even the electronic devices around them, from phones to the cafe's own music system, gave out a low, ominous hum. Sam, exuding an eerie calmness, drank in the scene, his gaze deliberate and unhurried.

He quietly observed her. One moment, a slight frown twisted his features, only to vanish the next, replaced by an impassive mask.

It felt like minutes before he spoke, his voice a soft caress, discordant from his demeanor.

"I am meeting with Raph, so let's keep this brief." The cafe scene behind him seemed to warp and curl menacingly around his silhouette. His darkening indigo eyes pierced through Crow's paling amber gaze in cruel delight.

"You're going back to the server room. Make your ire heard." He moved too fast for Crow to parry - yet once his hand got in her space, it slowly grazed her neck. "I'm sure you won't mind extending your stay. What's another banishment?"

A suffocating silence blanketed the café. Had everyone vanished? Sam snapped his fingers, "Say yes if you understand." Sensing Crow weighing her chances, he added, "I love it when you agree with me, little bird. It'll hurt less if we're on the same page." His touch crackled like embers on her skin. "You can't even move, can you?"

Crow replied, her voice seeping from behind her teeth like a stream of battery acid, "You always get what you want."

"Venomous!" Sam's smile was unsettlingly genuine, extending to the slight squint of his now rosy-tinted eyes. "I didn't hear a 'yes.'"

"You can take your 'yes' and shove it."

"Mm?"

"Shove it– ow!" She cawed as he gently cupped her face.

"That's still not a 'yes.'"

His taunts were interrupted as the table abruptly flipped over, forcing him to retreat. Crow stayed seated, frozen in place.

Her cold brew hovered in her line of sight. As she took it, her gaze traced back the bandaged arm holding it and landed on Wolf's eyes, which were locked onto Sam's.

Almost as quickly as Wolf had intervened, another figure righted the table.

"Raph. You're early," remarked Sam, unfazed.

Raph's eyes danced from Sam, to Crow perched on her seat, shakily fixing her hair, to the ever-imposing Wolf who stood protectively between them.

"Let's talk, Sam." She motioned towards a vacant table.

Once they were gone, Wolf grasped the table with both hands.

"Hey, thanks for stepping in." She took a sip of her cold brew. "Uh. Impressive table flip. I hope Iris doesn't..." She glanced at the bar, but Iris wasn't there. Behind her vacant spot, Bel's office door creaked open ever so slightly. She looked back at Wolf as she cooed, "Huh, where's Iris? Wonder if she went in..."

But Wolf remained silent. As the seconds ticked by, his grip tightened, the colour draining from his knuckles. Trying to break the tension, Crow chirped, "You're - the structural integrity of the table is fine, Wolf."

She squinted at his paling hands, trying her best to hide her growing unease. She tried once again to meet his eyes.

"Wolf? The... table... is holding up just fine - and I'm fine - but... you good, man?"

He locked eyes with her. She tilted her head. There seemed to be a thousand words nestled behind the man's eyes.

She couldn't discern any of them, but her gut told her to drop it once he looked away. She'll have to seek reassurance from someone else.

She looked behind the bar again. "Well, knowing Iris, she's probably keeping an eye out somehow..."

Wolf exhaled, his gaze softening a fraction, and he met her eyes. Carefully picking his words, he finally spoke, "Sometimes, Sam needs to be reminded of boundaries."

Crow smirked, "Reminded? More like shoved into his skull."

"Metaphorically, of course," he replied dryly, looking down at the table.

Crow raised an eyebrow, "Oh, word? I thought that table flip was quite literal."

Wolf cracked a slight smile. "My bad." He paused, then added, "I'm good. You good?"

She looked at her cold brew, the ice almost melted, "Yep. Good." She took a sip. The cold coffee failed to ease the burning sensation that lingered on her neck from Sam's touch. "You saved my cold brew," she chuckled weakly. "Thanks."

He nodded. A slight thud drew Crow's attention back to the bar. The office door creaked open further. Just as she tried to get a clearer look, Iris emerged with two empty espresso cups, pushing the door open with her hip and closing it hastily behind her.