THE BURNING EVIDENCE

The morning sunlight attacked me like it had been waiting all night for this exact moment. Right through my thin curtains, stabbing me in the face like I’d personally offended the sun.

I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head. Not today. Please not today. But the second I shut my eyes, last night came rushing back.

The alley.

The men.

Him.

And that voice, low and final: “Doom has begun.”

I sat up so fast my pillow hit the floor. My heart thudded against my ribs, too loud for morning.

No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Men don’t glow. They don’t fling people across alleys like paper. And glowing tattoos? Yeah, okay, sure.

Except—

My wrist throbbed.

I yanked up my sleeve like I’d catch it in the act.

The mark stared back at me. Glowing faintly in the daylight, warm under my skin, alive.

I laughed. I cried. Then I laughed again, because apparently I was losing my mind. “Of course,” I muttered. “Glowing wrist. Why not? Add that to my resume.”

My phone buzzed so hard against the nightstand I nearly dropped it. I grabbed it like it was the cure for stupidity.

Ten missed calls. All from my boss.

Crap.

The time blinked at me: 9:42 a.m. My shift had started at eight.

“Oh, for the love of—” I scrambled out of bed, tripped on my slippers, and landed on my knees. My cat bolted under the table, glaring at me like I’d ruined his morning too.

I threw on jeans, didn’t bother checking if they matched my shirt, and grabbed deodorant like it was perfume. My phone charger hung uselessly in the socket. Of course the battery was dead. Why would anything work in my life?

By the time I burst into the café, I was panting like I’d run a marathon, hair sticking up like I’d wrestled a thunderstorm.

My boss was waiting. Arms crossed. Lips pressed so thin I wondered how he breathed.

“You’re late.” His tone could have curdled milk.

“Good morning to you too,” I said with a fake smile. “Yes, I’m late. Traffic, you know. People existing. Terrible stuff.”

His glare sharpened. “Nanya. Don’t test me. I can’t afford staff who don’t take this job seriously.”

Staff? There were three of us. And one espresso machine that hated me. Deep down i would have loved to throw my fist at his face but there I was standing with a pleading face like an employer who has bills to pay...

“I do take it seriously,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice. “Seriously enough to show up, despite being half-dead and probably cursed.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” I ducked behind the counter before my mouth got me fired and homeless and hungry and who knows... dead maybe.

The machine hissed at me, customers shoved forward with orders like I was their personal servant, and my wrist burned beneath my sleeve. Still wondering why everything hurts so much down to my doom mark... Doom mark it is because nothing else explains this glowing tattoos

“Double latte, no foam, oat milk, extra hot,” one woman rattled off, not even glancing at me, thumbs busy tapping her phone.

I stared at her for three full seconds before forcing a smile. “Would you like a slice of the world peace to go with that?” I muttered under my breath.

“Excuse me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing! Coming right up.” I plastered on my best fake grin and turned to the machine mind you it was against my will... I wish I'd be allowed to fight with customer but I guess I can't 🙄

By the time I handed her the drink, she glared like I’d personally ruined her week. Whatever. Add her to the growing list of Things That Hate Nanya.

“Large cappuccino, two sugars!” another guy barked, slamming coins on the counter.

“Sure,” I muttered. “Want me to throw in a hug too, since you’re so polite?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Enjoy your coffee.”

I caught my reflection in the glass behind the counter. My hair looked wild, my eyes had dark circles, and I was pretty sure I smelled like sweat and regret. Normal day... Yeah! you heard that right, that is Nanya everyday. Well, Except for the glowing mark I couldn’t stop thinking about.

My coworker slid past me with a tray of muffins. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I nearly laughed. If only it were a ghost or was it? nope. no. no freaking way... I've seen ghosts in movies, ghosts don't get to look that good, that should be a crime in their world... But again... WHO IS HE

"Nanya... You are blacking out again... what's wrong with you today, you are weirder than normal."

Deep down i wanted to ask her the possibility of "HIM" being a ghost Instead I said, “Didn’t sleep well. Headache.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile and moved on. Bless her. If she knew the truth, she’d probably run for the hills.

The hours dragged. Steam, clinking cups, customer complaints—it all blurred together. Every time I tried to focus, my thoughts snapped back to the alley. His face. His voice. The mark burning on my skin like it was mocking me.

Normal. I wanted normal. Ordinary Nanya: broke, late to work, hated by her boss, surviving one latte at a time. That’s all I was. That’s all I wanted to be.

But deep down, I knew better.

Normal ended last night.

And no matter how much I denied it, the mark on my wrist was proof.

I wiped down the counter, forced a smile for the next customer, and whispered to myself, “This is fine. Everything’s fine. Totally fine.”

It wasn’t fine. And some part of me already knew—my nightmare had only just started.