Azreal turned toward the group, his voice calm but brimming with energy.

"Alright, everyone… we've got our hands full. Nena's Caffé is officially in business."

A cheer rippled through the team. They stepped back into the shop, each of them sliding naturally into motion.

Behind the polished counter, mugs clinked and steam hissed from the coffee machine. The tables — simple yet inviting — were arranged neatly by the windows, sunlight spilling over their surfaces. The faint scent of freshly baked donuts and roasted beans filled the air.

Outside, the quiet street wasn't so quiet anymore. A small crowd lined up at the door, chatting with curiosity and hunger.

---

Across the Street

Opposite Nena's Caffé,Caden and Carl — stood by the window of a smaller, duller shop. Their mother, Mrs. Frida, stood behind them with a sour look on her face.

Those "new people" across the street had a line stretching out the door, while her own place stood empty. Her lips tightened.

"They've stolen all our customers," she snapped. "How dare they."

She spun on her heel and stormed toward the back.

Caden folded his arms. "Carl, these aliens just opened a coffee shop. Why do you think they'd start a coffee shop?"

Carl shrugged, watching the bustle across the street. "Beats me. But… I've got an idea. Let's go check it out."

Caden's grin widened. "Right."

The brothers slipped out of their quiet shop and crossed the street.

---

Inside Nena's Caffé

Every chair was taken. The air buzzed with laughter, spoons clinking against porcelain.

Aria, wearing the new crimson uniform with Nena's Caffé stitched in white across her chest, walked over to the boys with her polite smile.

"So, what can I get for you little gentlemen today?"

Caden glanced at the menu board. "Two donuts, please. And tea — to go."

Carl jabbed him with his elbow. "What are you doing?"

Aria chuckled softly. "I'll be right back."

Carl's eyes darted around the shop while Caden stood waiting beside him. Moments later, Aria returned — two warm donuts neatly wrapped, and a pair of plastic cups with steaming tea.

"Here you go," she said, handing the order over before gliding off to the next table.

Carl frowned. "Something's up in this place… It feels too perfect. Like something's off."

Caden, with his mouth already full, mumbled, "Yeah, what's off is how delicious this is."

Carl gave him a flat look. "That's not what I meant."

"Come on, man, have a bite. You'll feel better."

"I don't want—" Before he could finish, Caden shoved the donut into his mouth. Carl blinked, then chewed. His eyes widened.

"…Okay, fine. It's good."

"Told you," Caden grinned.

Carl shook his head, snapping out of it. "No, no, no. This is how they get you. Mind control through pastries."

He tossed his donut in the bin, grabbed Caden's half-eaten one and his cup of tea, and dumped them too.

"Hey!" Caden barked. "I was eating that!"

"Focus," Carl hissed. "We're here to investigate, not get brainwashed."

Caden sighed. "Fine."

They left the café, crossing the street again with suspicious glances over their shoulders.

---

Back at Frida's Café

The place was still empty — a ghost of what it used to be. Mrs. Frida sat alone at one of the tables, tapping her fingers on the polished wood.

When she saw her sons, her eyes blazed.

"I've made a decision," she declared, rising to her feet. "I will not lose to those newcomers. They think they can steal my business? Over my dead body."

Caden and Carl threw up their fists. "Yeah!"

"I won't sit around and pity myself," she continued, fire in her tone. "It's time to take action!"

Both boys shouted again, "Yeah! Go get those aliens!"

Frida froze mid-rant. "…Aliens? What are you two talking about?"

The brothers froze. Carl forced a nervous laugh. "N-nothing, Mom. We just got a little carried away with your… uh… motivational speech."

Frida narrowed her eyes, then straightened her apron. "Anyway, get ready. Your sisters are coming back home. If they've got numbers, we'll match them. We'll get our customers back — or my name isn't Frida!"

The twins glanced at each other, gulping.

Frida's voice dropped, cold and deliberate.

"This is war. A war for the customers."

---

Later — Nena's Caffé

Business was booming. Laughter filled the air as the aroma of coffee and sugar clung to the walls.

The door clicked open, and an old woman stepped in with a cane tapping lightly on the tiles.

"A new shop opens in my neighborhood," she grumbled, "and no one bothers to tell me?"

Aria and Laisa froze mid-service. Laisa leaned closer.

"Isn't that the same old woman who helped us that day…?"

Aria's expression softened. She hurried over. "Grandma! I'm sorry — no one told you."

"You better be," the woman huffed.

"What would you like, Grandma?"

"Hmm… four donuts, two cups of coffee," she replied, her tone sharp but her eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Having them here or to go?" Aria asked.

"Here, of course."

Aria scribbled the order, tore the note from her pad, and handed it to Laisa.

"Come with me, Grandma. I'll get you a table."

As Aria led her away, Cain sat nearby on one the chairs with a donut in his mouth. He rose, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.

"I'm off," he muttered.

He adjusted the police badge around his neck and stepped out, heading toward the station.

---

At the Police Force — 2nd Floor

The elevator doors slid open with a ding. The office was alive with motion — ringing phones, footsteps, stacks of files being carried from desk to desk.

Desks lined both sides of the room, covered in papers, coffee mugs, and blinking monitors. The air smelled faintly of ink and caffeine.

Adrian sat behind his desk, one hand on his keyboard, the other clutching a cup of coffee.

Cain stepped out of the elevator just as Mira rushed past him, files tucked under her arm. He caught her by the shoulder.

"What's going on, Mira?"

She spun, a flicker of relief crossing her face. "Cain — good. You're here. Get ready, you're heading out with Detective Bob."

Cain blinked. "Detective Bob? Who's that?"

"The chief investigator," Mira said, just as a hush swept through the office.

The glass doors on the far end opened. A tall man entered — long brown coat, dark hat, and a gleaming badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck. His presence made the room straighten up instantly.

Mira nodded toward him. "That's Detective Bob."

Cain's eyes followed the man as he approached, his steps slow and deliberate.

"You must be Cain," Bob said, offering a hand. His voice was rough, calm, confident.

Cain shook it. "Yes, sir."

"Welcome to the team."

"Thanks."

Bob turned to the rest. "Adrian, Tony — ready the car. We've got a new case."

They scrambled to their feet. As they left, Bob glanced back at Cain.

"You're new, right? Good. Come along — let's see what you're made of."

Cain smiled faintly. "Yes, sir."

---

Outside, a black-and-white police vehicle waited at the curb. They climbed in — Adrian driving, Bob in the front passenger seat, Cain and Tony in the back.

Cain looked out the window as the city blurred past.

"My first case as a detective," he murmured to himself.

They arrived at a secluded area sealed with yellow police tape. The moment they stepped out, the air hit them — thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh. Officers moved carefully, taking photos and marking evidence.

An officer wearing gloves guided them forward. "Chief, over here."

Bob knelt by a pile of grey ash on the ground. The dirt around it was blackened. He slipped on gloves, scooped some ashes into his hand, then let them fall slowly.

"Same as the other cases," he muttered. "Completely burned down to dust."

He looked up. "Any witnesses?"

The officer shook his head. "None, sir. But we did find this in the ashes."

He handed over a sealed plastic bag containing a half-melted ID card.

Bob examined it. The card was charred, the photo unrecognizable. Only faint letters of a name could be seen — barely legible.

"What's the victim's name?" he asked.

The officer hesitated. "We couldn't recover it, sir."

Bob exhaled through his nose. "Alright. We'll send it to forensics, see if they can pull anything from it."

Cain stepped forward. "Wait — mind if I take a look?"

Adrian scoffed. "Chief already tried.What could you possibly see?"

Bob glanced back, a faint smile touching his face. "Let's give the newbie a chance, Adrian. Go ahead, Cain. Show us what you can do."

Cain slipped on his gloves, the faint snap of the fabric echoing against the tense silence. The officer handed him the half-burnt ID card sealed in a clear plastic bag.

He held it gently between his fingers — and the moment his skin brushed the surface, something shifted.

His eyes flickered crimson.

He turned slightly away from the others, pretending to inspect it under the light — but the world around him had already begun to distort.

The color drained from the surroundings. The air rippled, bending like heat haze. Then, in an instant, the scene around him bled red.

The sky cracked apart.

Cain stood in the middle of a memory — not his own, but the victim's.

The faint echo of a woman's breath trembled in the crimson fog. She was crying. Struggling.

A man's shadow loomed over her, forcing something down her throat. She gasped, choked, then convulsed as her skin began to burn from within.

In seconds, her body erupted into ash, scattering into the red sky.

Cain's jaw tightened. The pain, the terror, the smell — it all felt real.

Another image flashed. The woman again — alive this time — holding the hand of a small girl with chestnut hair. The girl's voice was faint, trembling with innocence.

"Mom… are we going home now?"

The woman smiled weakly, brushing her daughter's cheek. "Yes, Lisa. We're going home."

Then everything blurred.

A final memory surfaced — the woman receiving her ID from someone behind a counter. The name was clear this time, printed neatly in dark ink.

Layla Bose.

---

The vision shattered.

Cain's breath hitched as he blinked back into the real world. The sky above returned to normal. The noise of the investigation came rushing back — footsteps, voices, camera clicks.

He was standing still, eyes dimming from glowing crimson back to calm brown.

Adrian noticed first. "Cain? Hey, what's up? You spaced out."

No response.

Adrian frowned, reaching out to tap his shoulder. "Cain—"

Cain blinked and finally turned toward them. His expression was calm again, though a faint shadow of what he'd seen lingered behind his eyes.

Bob studied him closely. "You alright, rookie?"

Cain nodded once. "Yes, sir."

Bob folded his arms. "Did you… see the name?"

Cain hesitated for a second, then said evenly, "Barely. But… it read Layla Bose."

Bob took the ID back, squinting at it under the sunlight. The name was faint, barely visible — but "Bose" was still distinguishable.

He looked at Cain again, his tone impressed. "Cain, I've got to compliment you. That's some sharp eyesight you've got."

Cain gave a faint nod. "Thank you, sir."

Bob turned to the head officer. "Check for a Layla Bose in the city registry. I want her address, any family, relatives — anything."

"Yes, Chief!" The officer saluted sharply before heading off.

Bob exhaled, dusting his gloves. "Alright. Let's head back to the office and run this through forensics. Maybe they'll dig up something else."

The team began walking back toward the car.

---

As they moved, Adrian nudged Cain with a grin. "Not bad for your first day. You actually impressed the chief. You really are something — no wonder the government handpicked you."

Cain gave a faint, almost dismissive smile. "It's nothing."

"Come on," Adrian said as they reached the vehicle. "Give yourself some credit."

He slipped into the driver's seat while Bob and Tony took their places.

Cain paused by the car door, his gaze drifting back toward the scene — to the small pile of ash slowly being sealed off by crime scene tape. The wind scattered part of it into the air, glinting faintly in the sunlight.

He stared at it in silence.

A quiet murmur left his lips.

"…It's a pity she died a sinner."

His tone softened, almost reflective. "I guess even she had dirty secrets. My regards in hell, Layla Bose."

He opened the door and slid into the back seat.

The car engine started with a low hum, tires crunching against gravel as they pulled away from the scene.

Behind them, the ash of Layla Bose drifted through the air — silent, forgotten.

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