Café Lumin reeked of curated bullshit. All light and lush greenery, designed for snapshots, not silence. Tables lined with influencers pretending not to pose, drinks that looked more like paint than coffee. Inez sat in the corner like a shadow no one noticed, boots wide, body still. Coffee untouched. Cooling. She didn't need caffeine. She needed calm, and this place offered none of it.

Her eyes moved with calculation, door, window, register, the man with sunglasses who hadn't touched his muffin in thirty minutes. She listened to the music, the soft clink of cutlery, the distant hum of traffic under luxury.

Across the table, the girl was live again. Voice bright, smile brighter. Talking about lattes and God knows what else. Inez didn't listen. She couldn't. It made her jaw clench. It made her sick. The need to be seen, louder, shinier, more exposed than the last post. It was everything Inez hated about this job. About this girl.

This was supposed to be a ghost job. Stalker cleanup. Quiet, fast, clean. But the girl didn't know how to be quiet. She handed out her location like it was a fucking gift basket. Restaurants. Routines. Hotel interiors. Nothing sacred. Nothing safe.

Inez's gaze drifted to the phone, a habit she hadn't meant to form. Just another scroll of comments. Hearts. Fire emojis. Praise that meant nothing.

Then— "Who the fuck is sitting with you?"

Her shoulders tightened.

She hadn't been seen. She knew she hadn't been seen.

"Don't act like I don't see you."

Her pulse didn't spike, but something old flared in her blood. The kind of cold she only felt before drawing a weapon.

"You're mine. Not hers."

Inez didn't blink. Just reached across the table and ended the live with one smooth motion, as if she'd done it a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

"Get up." Her voice cut clean through the air.

Already moving. Already scanning. The pair by the window, too still. The staff, too relaxed. She didn't like any of it. Her grip wrapped firm around the girl's wrist. She wasn't dragging her. She was extracting.

Through the kitchen. Always the kitchen. Side exit, no line of sight. The alley outside was still breathing with the heat of the day, lined with dumpsters and the hum of electricity through cracked wires. She turned on her heels and faced her.

"You think this is a joke?" Her voice dropped low, hard. "You think this is just another post to boost your fucking reach?"

Her jaw set. Her boots were grounded, her stance wide, every muscle burning to move but locked in restraint.

"She knows where we are. You don't get it, do you? She doesn't guess. She doesn't scroll. She hunts. And you're leaving breadcrumbs with your face on them."

She stepped closer. Her voice didn't rise, but her presence did.

"She's watching. She's memorizing. She's obsessed. And you-you're still out here smiling like you're invincible. You're not. You're a goddamn beacon."

She pointed to the phone, now dark in her hand.

"You think this connects you to the world? It connects her to you. Every tag, every angle, every fucking reflection, she's cataloging it. Building you inside her head. And when that fantasy breaks? When it stops being enough?"

Her teeth clenched. Her mouth parted like she was about to yell, but instead, the words came cold. Controlled.

"She's going to come for you. Not in the comments. Not in your DMs. In your bed. With a knife."

Inez stared hard, her voice suddenly softer, but not gentler.

"I've seen it before. I've cleaned it up before. Pretty girls with too much light in their eyes. Smiles that made them easy to follow."

She stepped closer, a whisper between them now.

"I'm not here to make you feel safe. I'm here to make you be safe. There's a difference."

Another beat.

And then, quieter, rawer—

"Because if I fail at this,if she gets to you, I'm the one who has to live with what she does to your body. Not you. Me."

She watched her now. Breath steady. Hands still.

Waiting. Hoping.

Like maybe, finally, the words had landed.