Page 112 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

But my eyes driftback 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.”

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