Death's ReprieveHe is a god in Armani, stepping under the clinking bell at the coffee shop door. Features crisp and dark as a hawk, he sweeps eyes set with death over the room. The shop buzzes with life and the scent of java.Death's Reprieve in Fantasy More Like This
No one looks his way.
He skims the wooden counters, the motley assortment of chairs and people. Beside him, a businessman resumes clacking on his laptop keyboard, the momentary pause slipping his mind. Baristas return to the swirl and whir of their machines, brushing at coffee stains on black aprons as if suddenly aware of every imperfection. Customers falter in idle conversation, words they held a moment ago lost to their tongues. An older couple in the middle of the room lets the silence settle around them as if used to it, a slice of coffeecake untouched between them.
They do not concern him. He has come only for her.
She sits in the far corner, her back to the door. To him. She will not turn, though she is the only one in the room able to meet his gaze. His footsteps are sile