chapter 1 Foreshadowed Arrival

The problem with seeing other people's emotions is that they're almost always boring. Predictable swirls of everyday feelings—anxiety about bills, annoyance at coworkers, the occasional spark of joy over a text message. After twenty-three years of watching colors dance around people's heads, I've become something of a connoisseur of the mundane.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep standing up, Elara," Luna says, sliding a steaming mug across the counter toward me. Her aura pulses a warm, concerned orange—the color she always wears when she thinks I'm not taking care of myself.

"Late night," I mumble, wrapping my fingers around the mug. The coffee shop is quiet this morning, just a couple of regulars tucked into corners with laptops. "New shipment of books came in at midnight. Distributor mix-up."

Luna leans on the counter, her dark curls falling forward. "Or you could just admit you stayed up reading again."

I take a sip and don't deny it. The coffee burns a path down my throat, momentarily clearing the fog in my head. "The bookstore doesn't run itself."

"And neither does your life." Luna's orange aura deepens, tinged with frustration. "There's a world outside those pages, you know."

If only she knew how much of the world I already see—too much of it. The constant parade of other people's emotions exhausts me. Books are simpler. Contained. Safe.

The bell above the door chimes, and a blast of cool October air sweeps in. I don't turn, keeping my eyes fixed on my coffee, a practiced defense mechanism. New people mean new colors, new emotions to filter.

Luna straightens, her aura suddenly pulsing with bright pink interest. "Well, hello there," she says, her voice shifting into what I call her "potential boyfriend" tone.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I turn, coffee mug halfway to my lips.

And nearly drop it.

It's not what I see that startles me—it's what I don't see. The man standing in the doorway is tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and midnight-black hair that curls slightly at his collar. He's wearing an expensive-looking charcoal coat, hands tucked into its pockets as his eyes scan the café.

But around him—nothing. No colors. No swirling emotions. Just... emptiness.

In twenty-three years, I've never seen anyone without an aura.

"Welcome to Moonrise Café," Luna says, already reaching for a to-go cup. "What can I get you?"

The man approaches the counter, stopping a few feet away from me. His eyes—a stormy gray that matches the October sky outside—flick in my direction, then away.

"Black coffee," he says, voice deep and clipped. "Large."

I'm staring. I know I'm staring, but I can't help it. It's like looking at a photograph in a world of videos—flat, static, impossible.

He notices. Of course he notices. His eyes return to mine, narrowing slightly. "Something wrong?"

Luna glances between us, her aura now swirling with curious blues.

"No," I manage, dragging my gaze away. "Nothing."

I take a deliberate sip of coffee, burning my tongue in the process. From the corner of my eye, I see him still watching me, a slight furrow between his brows.

"You're new in town," Luna says as she prepares his order, making it sound like a question.

His attention shifts to her. "Not exactly."

"Oh?" Luna's interest pulses brighter.

"I grew up here. Been away a long time." He hands her a crisp bill.

Luna's smile widens. "Well then, welcome back to Moonhaven."

"Blackwood," I blurt out, the name surfacing from some forgotten corner of my memory. Both of them turn to me. "You're Cain Blackwood."

The furrow between his brows deepens. "Do we know each other?"

We don't. Not really. But the Blackwoods are Moonhaven royalty—old money, old house on the hill, old rumors about their strange comings and goings. They left town years ago, not long after—

"No," I say, gathering my bag. "Lucky guess. Small town."

I slide off the stool, suddenly needing air that isn't shared with this aura-less anomaly. As I pass him, our shoulders brush briefly.

The touch sends a jolt through me like static electricity, but worse—a flash of something dark and cold. For just a second, I see a stone chamber, moonlight streaming through a circle in the ceiling, shadows moving like living things across the walls.

I gasp, stumbling slightly.

His hand shoots out, steadying my elbow. "Careful."

The vision vanishes the moment he touches me. I pull away as if burned, mumbling something that might be "thanks" or "sorry" or nothing intelligible at all.

Luna calls after me, but I'm already pushing through the door, gulping the chilly October air.

Outside, I lean against the brick wall, waiting for my heart to stop hammering. In the reflection of the café window, I can see him watching me, those gray eyes following my retreat with an expression I can't read.

I've never been so terrified of—and fascinated by—not being able to read someone.

And I have the sinking feeling that Cain Blackwood's return to Moonhaven is going to complicate my carefully constructed solitude in ways I can't begin to imagine.