Page 47 of Midnights
That familiar pang tugs at my heart and I feel a mixture of nostalgia and something heavier. I exhale sharply, setting the book down and forcing my feet back toward the counter.Food first. Weird, magical book later.
I look up just as a tall man moves from the counter, his dark hair catching in the soft light. My body stills as a rush of either panic or excitement hits me all at once. I swallow, feeling my pulse spike when he turns slightly.
It's not him.
Relief crashes through me so quickly it leaves behind something I refuse to name. I shake my head at myself, mentally forcing my heart to calm the hell down. The last thing I need is to run intohimthis morning. Especially after last night.
Just the memory makes my skin heat.
I drag my gaze back to the menu and end up ordering a little bit of everything. Tea, coffee, pastries, and fruit. My inability to make a decision is now disguised as a breakfast feast.
The girl behind the counter takes my order, but the second I say my name, her eyes flick to mine and widen. Then, just as quickly, she masks it, smoothing her features into a polite but tight-lipped smile.
“Thank you. I'll let you know when it’s ready.” She tells me, before hurrying into the back.
Weird.
Maybe she’s just surprised by the amount of food I ordered.That, or she thinks I’m about to eat my feelings.And honestly? She wouldn’t be wrong there either.
I shake it off and wander over to the shelf where the book was, drawn in despite myself. The second my fingers brush the worn leather, opening the book, a strange feeling ripples through me, like a current under my skin.
My stomach tightens as I flip through the pages. The bindings creak in protest and the scent of aged parchment fills the air. The pages are delicate and frayed, but something feels off about this book.
I skim a random section and my eyes catch on a single word that makes my breath stutter.I see my name.
My pulse quickens as a strange rush of anticipation floods through me. But when I lean in, the rush deflates just as quickly. It’s not my name at all. Well, it is, but it’saraven. Literally. A hand-drawn sketch of the bird, its wings outstretched in flight with delicate strokes at the bottom of the page.
A small laugh slips past my lips, more out of relief than amusement.Seriously, Raven?Get a grip. I shake my head at myself, willing away the ridiculousness. But as my eyes linger on the drawing, something tugs at the edge of my mind, like a word on the tip of my tongue that refuses to take shape.
I close the book and the lights flicker.
The bulbs overhead dim and a faint hum vibrates through the air. I look up, scanning the café, but no one seems to react.
Another flicker. Stronger this time. Something shifts through the room, crackling against my skin. The air turns crisp and every hair on my arm stands up. I rub them instinctively, trying to shake off the sudden chill crawling down my spine.
Then, just as fast as it started, it stops, and my name is called. I blink, and step toward the counter. The girl behind it hands me my order, but her gaze flickers toward the ceiling before settling on me.
“Were the lights just flickering?”
My heartbeat stumbles.So it wasn’t just me.
I force a casual nod. “Yeah… I thought it was just my imagination.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but her expression stays unreadable as she glances around the café. “It was and wasn’t,” she murmurs, like she wants to say more but holds back. The silence between us stretches until she busies herself behind the counter.
Something about the moment latches onto me in a way I can’t quite shake. But I swallow the unease, offer a smile and turn to leave.
As soon as I step outside, I can smell the rain. But something is different now. Something presses at the edges of my senses.
And I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a whisper. There’s definitely something about Scotland.
I start to walk back, but the feeling doesn’t fade. It lingers, weaving itself into the air, pressing in from all sides. A shiver runs down my spine and the hairs at the nape of my neck start to prickle.Remain calm.I tell myself, but the unease is impossible to ignore. That distinct sensation of being watched creeps in.
I stop mid-step and turn, looking across the street behind me. A few early risers are walking their dogs. A man waters the flowers and a cyclist speeds past. I can hear the faint hum of his tires whispering against the pavement.
No one’s watching.And yet, I still can’t shake it.
There are more people out now than before, but the feeling clings to me like a shadow. My pulse quickens, and the instinct urges me to move faster.It’s probably just my imagination.At least that's what I try to convince myself, but my body disagrees.
