Shadows of the Unknown

CHAPTER ONE

Today had been one of those days already, and it wasn't even five o'clock. She'd been on her feet since early morning, dealing with everything from grimy diners to snappish patrons. Still, she clung to small kindnesses—the little girl who'd drawn her a crayon picture with a "Thank you, Miss," scrawled underneath, or the woman who'd gone out of her way to say she appreciated her work. Then, of course, there was that young man who'd left her an extra tip last week and flashed her a shy smile every time he visited. He'd even flirted a little, and she'd found herself lingering by his table more often than her boss might like. She was only twenty two, after all, and some things made the day a little brighter.

But then there were men like the ones who'd just walked in—well-dressed, sharp, with an air about them that made her uneasy. Maybe they were government. One thing she'd learned in the years since fleeing her adoptive family was to be wary of people in authority. She'd worked hard to mask her accent, to appear like she belonged, but she knew she'd never entirely fit in. Here in America, she wasn't just an immigrant; she was an outsider.

Emilia forced herself to take a breath, imagining herself as Elizabeth Taylor, graceful and poised. She was an actress, after all—playing the role of the waitress who belonged here, who wasn't afraid. No one, not even herself, could know just how badly she wanted that to be true.

"Well, hello there, sugars," she greeted, her voice sweet and lilting, a practiced smirk playing on her lips to mask the nerves simmering beneath. "Y'all are lookin' mighty fine today. What's the special occasion?"

With a flick of her wrist, she flipped open her notepad and clicked her pen, her gaze steady and confident as she met their eyes one by one.

But then her focus landed on him—the man with piercing ocean-blue eyes that seemed to cut through her practiced composure. His gaze wasn't just looking at her; it felt like it was searching her soul, peeling back layers she wasn't ready to reveal. For a moment, she forgot her smirk, her confidence faltering under the weight of his intense stare. Though it was intense, she had no desire to break it.

"Speaking with you," he said with a smooth, accented voice, his smile as calm as it was disarming. Then, with a wink, he sent a ripple of discomfort through Emilia's carefully constructed composure. Her gaze darted to the other man, his eyes carrying an eerie familiarity she couldn't place.

A flicker of confusion crossed her face. Why would anyone want to talk to me? she wondered, her chest tightening. She had spent the last ten years perfecting the art of staying invisible—moving city to city, job to job, blending into the background. To most, she was just "the waitress" or "the girl with the book," a shadow in their peripheral vision. Few people knew her as Emilia, and even fewer saw beyond the polite facade she wore like armor. Letting anyone in was dangerous; it meant risking exposure, revealing the secrets she had worked so hard to bury. Secrets that could unravel everything if discovered.

Her fingers gripped the edge of her notepad, the corners digging into her palm as a strange tension settled over her. Something about these men wasn't right. Their movements, their subtle exchange of glances—it all felt calculated, deliberate. The air between them hummed with a silent understanding that made her skin prickle.

The man with the blue eyes held her gaze for a moment longer before the other spoke, his voice warm yet accented in a way that sent a chill down her spine.

"Emilia," he said, her name slipping from his lips like he'd said it a hundred times before. His tone was calm, almost hypnotic, drawing her eyes back to him against her better judgment. His expression softened into a knowing smile, one that unsettled her even more. It wasn't just that he was looking at her—it was the way he looked at her, as though he already knew her, as though she was some long-lost piece of a puzzle he had been trying to solve.