Page 32

I’m halfway through my first shift at The Guardian Grind when the morning crowd finally thins out. My arms ache from the repetitive motion of pulling espresso shots, and my lower back complains from hours of standing. I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the knots forming there.

“You want me to cover for a bit?” Malia asks, wiping down the counter beside me. “You look like you could use a break.”

“I’m fine,” I say, though the offer is tempting. “Just getting my second wind.”

The truth is, I’m grateful for the distraction of work. With my thesis defense looming, the coffee shop has become my sanctuary—a place where I can focus on simple, concrete tasks instead of quantum equations or the constant, low-grade anxiety that’s become my companion.

Malia doesn’t look convinced. “At least sit down for five minutes. Doctor’s orders.”

“Since when are you a doctor?” I laugh, but I’m already untying my apron.

“Since Walt started teaching me field medicine. Trust me, I can diagnose exhaustion when I see it.” She gives me a gentle push toward an empty table. “Go. Sit.”

I don’t argue further, sliding into a chair with a grateful sigh. From this vantage point, I can see the entire café—Jenna at the register, her movements efficient and precise; Rebel organizing pastries with the same intensity she probably brings to combat training; and in the corner, the espresso machine that’s been Malia and Jenna’s collective nemesis for weeks.

The machine gives an ominous sputter, and right on cue, the door chimes as Mike, the repair technician, enters. He’s dressed in gray coveralls, toolbox in hand.

“Morning, ladies.” He’s got an easy smile—the kind that spreads without trying, tugging at the corners of every mouth around him. Even the most caffeine-deprived person in line perks up. “Heard the beast is acting up again.”

“Third time this week,” Jenna sighs, not bothering to hide her frustration. “At this point, we should just name it and charge it rent.”

Mike laughs, but the sound is just a touch too calculated. “Let me take a look. Might need to order a replacement if I can’t get it sorted this time.”

He moves behind the counter, setting his toolbox down. Confidence in his movements seems at odds with his repeated failure to actually fix anything. As he opens the espresso machine’s side panel, his attention flicks briefly to the security camera in the corner before returning to his work.

It’s such a small thing—a glance that lasts less than a second—but it catches my attention. Why would a repair technician be concerned with security cameras?

“Ally?” Malia’s voice cuts through the fog. “You okay? You’ve got that thousand-yard stare going on.”

I blink, dragging my attention back to her. “Yeah. Just thinking about… stuff.”

“Very specific,” she teases. “Thesis stuff or sexy men stuff?”

“Neither.” Which is weird—for me.

But my eyes drift back to Mike.

He’s got the espresso machine’s control panel open, wires exposed like veins, and tools scattered neatly beside him. His hands move, but… something’s off. His attention keeps slipping—not to the wiring, but to the café itself.

He glances toward the security panel by the front door. Then, the staff schedule pinned near the register. His gaze lingers a beat too long on the Guardian rotation chart that Malia updates daily—who’s on shift, when they’re expected, who’s missing.

He doesn’t just see it. He reads it. Memorizes it.

And while he fiddles with the circuit board, his head tilts slightly—subtle, but deliberate—as if he’s noting each Guardian who walks through the door.

Just a glance here, a pause there. Nothing overt.

But he’s not just focused on the machine.

He’s taking in the café—the security panel, the staff schedule, the flow of people. Like he’s building a mental map.

I shift my weight, brushing it off. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time around Hank and Gabe. Their hypervigilance is starting to rub off. He’s probably just bored. Curious.

Still, something doesn’t quite sit right.

“Earth to Ally.”

Malia waves a hand in front of my face, her tone light. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Sorry,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just distracted.”

She softens. “Take more than five if you need it.” Then she lowers her voice, conspiratorial. “Though fair warning—if you look too relaxed, Jenna will definitely find something for you to do.”

I laugh. “Noted.”

As Malia returns to work, I pull out my phone, hoping to distract myself from my inexplicable unease. The battery is already at 30%, though I charged it fully before my shift.

These power issues are getting worse.

I glance up just as Mike pulls out his phone, seeming to take a photo of the inside of the machine. The angle is odd, though—his phone is directed more toward the café’s back hallway than the espresso machine’s components .

“Need to document what I’m fixing,” he explains smoothly when he catches me watching. His smile never reaches his eyes. “For the repair log.”

I nod, but something cold slides down my spine. The back hallway leads to the supply room—and the access panel to the building’s main security system.

“How’s it looking?” I ask, moving closer under the pretense of professional curiosity.

“Pretty bad,” Mike says, continuing to fiddle with wires. “The control board is fried. Between you and me, I think it’s affecting the whole electrical system in this section of the building.”

“Really? That seems… extreme for a coffee machine.”

He shrugs. “These systems are all connected. One bad component can cascade through everything. Like dominoes.” The way he says it—almost pleased—makes my skin crawl.

I nod as if this explanation satisfies me and dismiss the thought as quickly as it forms. I’m being paranoid, seeing threats where there are none. Mike is just an overworked repair technician doing his job, not some nefarious spy.

“Hey, Ally,” Jenna calls from the register, breaking my concentration. “Can you help Sophia with those boxes that just came in? They’re heavy.”

“Sure,” I reply, grateful for the distraction from my increasingly unsettling thoughts.

As I move toward the storeroom, I glance back one more time. Mike has the espresso machine’s control panel completely disassembled now, and I could swear he’s installing something rather than removing it—a small, black component that definitely wasn’t part of the original machine.

“You coming?” Sophia calls, holding the storeroom door.

“Yeah,” I say, reluctantly turning away. “Sorry.”

The rest of my shift passes in a blur of customers and coffee, but I can’t stop thinking about Mike and his “repairs.” When my break finally comes, I find myself wandering toward the espresso machine, now reassembled and supposedly functioning again.

“Good as new,” Mike announces, wiping his hands on a rag. “Though I still recommend a replacement. This one’s on its last legs.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Malia points out. “Yet somehow it keeps limping along.”

“Well, I’m a miracle worker,” he says with a wink, but I sense something calculating in his expression as he packs up his tools. “Actually, I’ve got approval to install a brand new model next week. State of the art.”

“Really?” Jenna looks surprised. “Budget finally came through?”

“Something like that.” Mike’s smile tightens fractionally. “Special request from higher up. They want to make sure you ladies have the best equipment.”

“Since when does Forest care about our coffee quality?” Rebel asks, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

“Not my department,” Mike says with a casual shrug. “I just install what they tell me to.”

I pull out my phone, out of habit, and realize the battery is now completely dead despite showing 30% just an hour ago.

A familiar frustration bubbles up—these electronic issues are beyond annoying now.

“Do you think Mike ever fixes anything?” I ask Malia as she tests the espresso machine.

“Doesn’t look like it,” she confirms as the machine makes a concerning grinding noise. “Same old issues. I swear he makes it worse every time.”

“Has he always been the technician here?” I keep my voice casual.

“Pretty much since we opened Guardian Grind.”

“Ever think you should try someone else?”

“I’d love to, but the background checks are insane here. Takes forever to clear someone. As long as he can keep it limping along… Why?”

“No reason,” I say quickly. “Just curious.”

But my mind is already connecting dots I hadn’t even realized were related. The electronic malfunctions that started with my laptop. The increasing frequency of Mike’s visits. The strange device among his tools. His unusual attention to security features that should be irrelevant to coffee machine repairs.

Could it all be connected?

Not Mike—not directly—but the technical glitches. The sudden battery drain. The flickering screens. The way Mitzy confiscated both my laptop and USB without explanation, her expression tight, unreadable.

Before I can follow that thread any further, the café door swings open, and Malikai steps inside, a familiar flash drive clutched in his hand.

“There you are,” he says, eyes locking on me as he steps into Guardian Grind, a familiar USB drive pinched between his fingers.

I straighten instinctively. “Malikai.”

Seeing him here still feels surreal. The last time we were in the same room, we were locked inside a research compound, prisoners of Malfor—of Sentinel. Now he’s in Guardian black, standing in line at the café like the past hasn’t followed us both here.

He crosses the room with purpose, the easy confidence in his stride a stark contrast to the tension knotting my stomach. His build’s a little stronger, his eyes sharper—but there’s still a softness when he looks at me. A shared weight we’ll never fully put down.

He lifts the USB slightly. “Mitzy asked me to return this.”

I take it carefully. “Did she say anything else?”

“She’s sorry for delaying getting back to you. She’s been busy with other things, but told me to tell you that she’s still digging.”

“What about my laptop?”

“Officially fried. Drive started acting up during diagnostics and just flatlined. She couldn’t trace the exact malfunction, but whatever happened—it wasn’t normal.”

I swallow hard. “It didn’t start until I plugged that in.”

He nods. “That’s what she thought at first. Corrupted firmware or something embedded deeper. But it’s not just your laptop. She thinks whatever’s on that drive might have affected Hank and Gabe’s phones, too.”

My fingers tighten around the USB.

“That’s not possible,” I murmur, but my pulse skips anyway. “The drive never touched their phones. Whatever affected Hank and Gabe’s devices… it couldn’t have come from this.”

Malikai watches me, his expression unreadable.

“I checked it,” he says quietly. “Your data’s still intact. Mitzy combed through every layer—code, encryption, and even the backup sectors. It’s clean.”

Relief pulses through me like a current. At least that part of me is still whole.

“Then what’s going on?”

Malikai’s mouth flattens. “You’re not the only one seeing weird tech failures. My tablet locked up—hard. Like a full-system crash. They say it’s a firmware issue. I’m not convinced.”

He jerks his chin toward the counter. “Malia’s register keeps resetting. Espresso machine’s acting possessed. She’s had to call Mike several times this week. Something’s off.”

I glance over at Malia, who’s laughing with a customer—but her hand rests protectively on the register like she’s waiting for it to explode again.

Too many failures. In too many places.

But not all at once—spread out. Subtle. Easy to explain.

I glance down at the USB still clutched in my hand. At least this is intact.

“Thanks for bringing this by. I should go through everything,” I murmur. “Prep for my thesis defense. Make sure the models still hold.”

“Can’t hurt.” Malikai gives a small nod. “If you need someone to bounce ideas off of, just say the word.” His gaze lingers on the espresso machine a beat too long. Or maybe, he’s just checking in on his sister.

Not wanting to keep him, I shove the USB deep into my pocket.

“Thanks, Mal. I really appreciate you dropping this off.”

“Any time.” But instead of heading toward his sister, Malikai pivots sharply and walks out—his expression tight, like his thoughts are louder than the room around him.