And locked on the girl behind the register.
Everything in my chest seized.
No.
She stood there in the standard café uniform—black polo, hair pulled back, eyes wide and uncertain as she watched Jenna demonstrate the register. Young. Too young. Delicate features, nervous energy radiating off her in waves I could feel from six feet away.
Olivia.
The name hit me like a fist to the sternum.
She didn't see me yet. Too focused on whatever Jenna was explaining, nodding along with that earnest intensity that made my jaw clench. She bit her bottom lip, concentration etched across her face, and something dark and unwanted coiled low in my gut.
What the hell is she doing here?
She wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this building. Not in my space.
I knew her. Knew the shape of her face, the way she held herself like she was trying to take up less space than she deserved.
I forced my expression blank. Locked down everything threatening to surface.
Her hands shook when she reached for the cup to make someone else's order.
Not much. Just enough that I caught it—the slight tremor in her fingers as she fumbled with the sleeve, tried to steady herself against the counter. She kept her eyes down, focused on the task with an intensity that screamed inexperience.
Jenna hovered close, watching. Correcting without words—a subtle shift of position, a hand guiding Olivia's grip on the coffee pot. Training mode. Which meant this girl was brand new.
Too new.
I shouldn't notice these details. Shouldn't catalog the way she held herself—shoulders hunched, body angled slightly away like she expected someone to shove past her. Defensive posture. Prey animal awareness.
Same as when she was twelve.
The memory surfaced before I could stop it. Her, small and wide-eyed, trembling. She was cold, lip cut, bleeding?—
I stopped.
That look hadn't changed.
She moved to the espresso machine, and her elbow caught the edge of someone's abandoned plate. It clattered. She flinched—full-body reaction, instant and visceral—before catching herself. Forced her shoulders down. Smoothed her expression.
But I'd seen it.
The older guy two spots behind me in line shifted forward, invaded her space without realizing it. Olivia stepped back immediately, created distance, reset her boundary. Automatic. Practiced.
What the hell happened to you?
The question formed before I could kill it.
I knew pieces. Her mother's situation. The chaos of her childhood. But knowing facts wasn't the same as seeing the aftermath written across someone's body language—the hypervigilance, the way she monitored exits, kept her back protected.
She was trying. Trying so damn hard to appear normal, competent, calm. But everything about her screamed fragile. One wrong word from shattering.
And I stood here watching her like some kind of predator identifying weakness.
Stop.
I dragged my gaze away. Focused on the menu board. The scuffed floor. Anything but her.
