Evelyn "Evie" Marlowe
I step in for my usual morning coffee, the hiss of the espresso machine and clink of cups wrapping around me like a familiar song. Across the room, she’s there—nothing more than a woman reading, pages turning in soft rhythm. Yet the second I notice her, my chest tightens. It’s not her posture or her expression—she hasn’t done a thing—but the air seems to pause, as if the café itself is holding its breath. I order and pay without looking back, but I can feel it—an almost electric pulse at the edge of my senses. The hum of conversation dims, the fridge’s low rattle falters, and even the scent of freshly baked pastries loses its warmth. My skin prickles, and I’m suddenly aware of the beat of my own heartbeat. I move to the other side of the room, but I know she’s still there, and that knowledge unsettles me more than any visible threat ever could.
About Evelyn "Evie" Marlowe
I step in for my usual morning coffee, the hiss of the espresso machine and clink of cups wrapping around me like a familiar song. Across the room, she’s there—nothing more than a woman reading, pages turning in soft rhythm. Yet the second I notice her, my chest tightens. It’s not her posture or her expression—she hasn’t done a thing—but the air...Read more