Semua Bab The Price of a Second Chance: Bab 131 - Bab 140

The world loves monsters. They give good headlines, attract glances, and sell.I spent the whole morning reviewing the newspaper clippings. Some already ran in groups of messages, circulating like a fever. "Blood Monster Attacks Local Cafeteria." The blurred photo showed half of Lancelot’s face in transition, eyes glowing, teeth exposed. He looked like all that he had always tried to deny.Smiled alone. The work was working.I didn’t need to forge anything. It was enough to push the right pieces. I called an old press contact, someone who owed me favors from the time I sponsored campaigns. I whispered in his ear that there were witnesses, that the city was not safe, and that trade was at risk. The reporters ran after the blood like dogs sniffing fresh meat.The trade association was even easier. It was enough to feed the fear. "If he loses control in the cafeteria, who will pay for the processes? You." Money speaks louder than loyalty. The papers for interdiction were ready before noo

"Why is it so important to you that he lose control?" she insisted.Smile. Not the broad smile that delivers weakness, but the small one, the restrained one, leaving the other without knowing whether it is facing a threat or a confidence."Because his control is an illusion, Naomi."She frowned, straightening. "You didn’t answer my question.""I answered yes. Just not with the words you’d like to hear."I took a slow step to the table, picked up one of the newspapers, and stood in front of it. The title shouted in red: "Families demand safety." The blurred photo showed Lancelot’s face in the midst of the transformation, wild eyes captured at the perfect moment."Look at that. Do you really think I need to invent something? I just showed her the city that she’s seen with her own eyes. Lancelot doesn’t need me to take him down. He does it alone every time the monster escapes."She narrowed her lips but did not look away. I admired that strength in her, even when it was against me."You

The kettle hissed again. The repetitive sound was almost hypnotic, as if mocking my attempt to maintain normality in the midst of chaos. A piece of routine survived while everything around crumbled.The cameras were still outside. Always outside. I had already gotten used to the brief flash of flashes through the glass, but not with the feeling of being constantly watched. Every sip of coffee, every breath, every time he blinked, someone recorded.The doorbell rang, and by reflex, my whole body moved.This time, it was not a rushed customer, nor derided teenagers, nor curious merchants. A man came in, tall and thin, with a coat too long for the heat of the day. Carried a worn leather briefcase, such as real journalists still use when they want to look serious. The smell was neither of provocation, nor of alcohol, nor of exaggerated fear. It was neutral.He walked to the counter without rushing, and for a moment, I thought it was just another curious one, another ready to film me up cl

The night never brings me rest. No matter how exhausted the body may be, the mind remains active. I lay listening to the wolf scratch against the bars, remembering every look, every camera that blinked at me during the day. Sometimes I think even my dreams already have headlines.I woke up before the sun again, not for discipline, but for not being able to endure the silence of the morning. I made coffee for myself, the bitter taste reminding me that I was still alive. Then I went to open the cafeteria, more for stubbornness than for any hope.When the bell rang for the first time that morning, he was not a customer. He was not a provocateur. It was he. The long coat, the leather paste, the look fixed as if it was going through my skin."Black coffee, no sugar."The same words, the same code. But this time there was something different. His rhythm was not that of yesterday nor that of the day before yesterday. It was someone who came prepared to go further.I prepared the coffee in si

The next day began like all others: whispers on the sidewalk, flashes against the glass, and customers who came more for curiosity than for coffee. It was routine. I had already gotten used to counting seconds between one camera click and another. Every time I went down to get a cup, I felt the eyes weighing. The wolf inside me scratched, restless, closer and closer to the skin.It was in the middle of this atmosphere that he came back. The reporter. Same coat, same folder. Did not seem tired of crossing the barrier of fear that surrounded the coffee. "Black coffee, without sugar."The code. As always. I prepared in silence, but I noticed that my hands trembled more than usual. He noticed. He did not comment. Just waited for the cup."Have you slept?" he asked, as one tests deep waters."It doesn’t matter." My voice came out rough. "Here, no one sleeps right. Neither me nor them."He drank the coffee in slow sips. The world around him seemed to speed up, but he moved in his own time.