Page 124 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Who knows? Gremlins? Third time this week, it’s glitched out.” Malia unplugs the register, counts to ten, and plugs it back in. “We’ll have to call Mike the Mechanic back.”

Jenna groans. “Again? He’s basically our part-time employee at this point.”

“He should be on payroll,” Rebel mutters, wiping down the espresso machine. “Maybe give him a punch card—ten repairs and he gets a free latte.”

“I bet he’d laminate it,” Malia says, deadpan. “Color-coded. With a barcode. But it’s too late. Jenna’s been hooking him up with free lattes. He expects it now.”

Rebel snorts. “Mike the Mechanic and his sacred toolkit. Guy acts like he’s defusing a bomb every time he touches a coffee grinder.”

“I swear he talks to the equipment,” Jenna adds. “He stroked the register last time. Called it sweetheart.”

“Okay, but did it work afterward?” Rebel asks.

Malia sighs. “Yeah. Eventually. I think the register was just trying to get rid of him.”

They all laugh, the tension breaking just enough to feel normal—almost.

“Have electronics always been this temperamental around here?” I watch the machine reboot sluggishly.

“Not until recently,” Jenna calls from the register, repeatedly tapping a stubborn touch screen. “This thing just froze in the middle of a transaction.” She offers an apologetic smile to the waiting customer. “Sorry about this. Technology, right?”

The customer—a young man in a Guardian HQ security uniform—nods understandingly. “Tell me about it.”

A chill runs down my spine as I remember Mitzy’s concern about my laptop and USB drive.

“My meeting with Mitzy keeps getting postponed,” I say, wiping down the steam wand. “Three days in a row now.”

Malikai may have brought me my USB, but I have questions for Mitzy.

“She’s probably tied up with the mission,” Malia says. “The tech team runs support 24/7 when there’s an active op.”

“I know. It’s just?—”

“It’ll keep another day,” Malia assures me. “In the meantime, you’ve gained five new best friends and mastered the art of the perfect macchiato. I’d call that a productive use of your time.”

She’s not wrong. The evenings with Charlie’s Angels have been… healing, somehow.

It feels like I’ve gained a sorority of sisters I never knew I needed—women who understand exactly what it means to have your life fractured intobeforesandafters.

“Are you sure you want to stay for closing?” Malia asks, glancing at the clock. “We’re almost done with the rush.”

“I promised Sophia I’d help with inventory,” I say. “Besides, what else would I do? Sit around Jenna’s apartment and stare at the door?”

“Fair enough,” Malia concedes. “Just don’t want you wearing yourself out. For all we know, the guys could be back tonight, and you’ll need your energy.”

Something in her tone makes me look up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She grins, and that familiar mischievous sparkle in her eyes flashes. “Just that after three days away, I imagine they’ll have…needs. I know I do.”

“Malia!” I glance around to make sure none of the customers heard.

“What?” she points out reasonably. “You can’t tell me you’re not looking forward to?—”

“Order up!” Jenna calls from the register, saving me from whatever explicit scenario Malia was about to describe.

The afternoon fades into evening, the steady stream of customers dwindling to a trickle. I’m restocking napkins behind the counter when the lights flicker briefly, causing several patrons to glance up from their devices.

“That’s the third time today,” Sophia says, arriving for her evening shift. “Maintenance says it’s nothing, but…”

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