The Vampire Prince

The café buzzed with the usual afternoon crowd, a familiar symphony of clattering cups and hushed conversations. Farah moved with practiced ease behind the counter, her mind half on the orders, half on the well-worn vampire novel tucked beside the espresso machine.

She’d felt the weight of his stare for a while now, a persistent, unsettling presence that cut through the mundane. It was different from the usual appreciative glances; this was a gaze that felt less like admiration and more like… assessment. When she finally looked up, her eyes met his across the room. He was a man carved from shadow and sharp angles, an almost predatory stillness in his posture. A shiver, not entirely of fear, traced its way down her spine.

He was still watching her when her colleague, Tom, leaned over. “Farah, why don’t you take your break?” he suggested, his voice low. Farah nodded, reaching instinctively for her book. As she walked out from behind the counter, a sea of eyes followed her, but none held the same chilling intensity as his.