The Daily Grind Cafe wasn't exactly glamorous. It was one of those slightly-too-trendy spots with exposed brick, uncomfortable metal chairs, and a lingering smell of burnt espresso. My uniform felt stiff, unfamiliar, and the name tag felt like a brand: Sera Drevane. I was here. On time, somehow, thanks to Death's terrifyingly efficient invisible powers and my questionable driving skills in his ridiculously fast car. Note to self: ask Azrael how he registered a car in the real world under my new fake name. Add it to the list of 'things to scream at my immortal husband about later.'
Mrs. Liu, the manager, was exactly as advertised: harsh. She was a small, wiry woman with a perpetually pinched expression and eyes that missed nothing. Her orientation was less about welcoming me to the team and more about listing all the ways I could screw up and how she would react (spoiler: badly).
"And no slacking, Sera," she snapped, her gaze sharp. "We're busy. You keep up. Kevin!" She barked the name at a lanky guy lounging near the pastry case, scrolling on his phone. "Show Sera the register. Then you take tables."
Kevin, my coworker, gave me a bored look, mumbled something about 'whatever,' and spent approximately thirty seconds showing me how to press buttons before wandering off to lean against the wall, returning to his phone. So much for teamwork.
The morning rush hit like a tidal wave. Suddenly, the cafe was packed. Lines snaking out the door, milk steaming, espresso machines hissing. Mrs. Liu was everywhere, micromanaging, snapping orders, and calling my name.
"Sera! Get those lattes out! Sera, clean table four! Sera, restock the sugars!"
Every time she barked my name, I flinched internally. Sera Drevane. It felt wrong. Like wearing someone else's skin. And the ring on my finger felt heavier with each shout.
I worked furiously, trying to keep up. Steaming milk, pulling shots, trying to remember who ordered what, all while dodging Mrs. Liu's glares and Kevin's utter uselessness. My mind was a chaotic mess of latte orders, passive-aggressive managerial feedback, and the lingering, terrifying reality of being married to Death.
My new phone, tucked into my back pocket, vibrated relentlessly. Azrael. Calling. Texting. I ignored it. Every buzz was a reminder of the impossibility of my situation, a threat to the fragile normalcy I was desperately trying to cling to here in the land of burnt espresso. I just needed to get through this shift. Prove I could do this. Anchor myself. Without needing my terrifying husband to interfere.
The lunch rush arrived, somehow even more chaotic than the morning. The cafe was packed. The noise level was deafening. And then, I saw him.
He walked in like he owned the place. Which, given he was Death, wasn't entirely inaccurate. Azrael. In a dark, perfectly tailored suit that looked utterly out of place. He moved with that same unnerving grace, that silent glide I remembered from the mansion. Customers instinctively parted for him as he made his way towards the counter.
He looked exactly as he had in the In-Between: tall, pale, with those void eyes that seemed to drink the light. He radiated an aura of calm, ancient power that felt like a ripple of absolute zero in the busy warmth of the cafe.
Mrs. Liu, usually bustling and sharp, paused, her eyes fixed on him. Kevin, who had meandered closer to the counter presumably to look busy as Mrs. Liu was nearby, even looked up from his phone. The normal chaos of the cafe seemed to… hesitate.
He stopped in front of the counter, his void eyes locking onto mine. The intensity was immediate, overwhelming. My breath hitched. Kevin, however, leaned forward slightly, peering at Azrael with a strange curiosity.
"Whoa, dude, sick contacts," Kevin said, surprisingly articulate for once. "Where'd you get 'em? They look totally unreal."
Azrael didn't even spare Kevin a glance. His focus remained entirely on me. "They are not contact lenses. They are real."
Kevin snorted. "Bullshit. Nobody on Earth has eyes like that, man. Pure black? No way."
A beat of silence, then Azrael's voice, still fixed on me, "Good you said nobody on Earth, as I am not from Earth."
Before Kevin could process that, or perhaps decide if he was being messed with, I rushed to intervene, my heart hammering. "Sera," Azrael said, his voice a low, resonant hum that cut through the lingering cafe noise like a laser.
My manager, Mrs. Liu, snapped back to attention, her pinched face directed at me. "Sera! Customers are waiting! Take his order!"
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Right. Yes, Mrs. Liu." I forced a smile that felt brittle. "Welcome to The Daily Grind. What can I get for you?"
He didn't look at the menu board. His gaze stayed fixed on me. "Black coffee. And fries."
Fries. Again with the fries. A flash of the earlier conversation, the conjured fries, us sharing them in his creepy mansion, hit me with full force.
"Sir," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We… we don't actually sell fries here. We have pastries, sandwiches, salads…"
"Fries," he repeated, his voice unwavering.
Mrs. Liu huffed impatiently. "Sera! Just tell the customer what we have!"
"I am telling him, Mrs. Liu!" I whispered through gritted teeth, then turned back to Azrael. "We don't have fries! Seriously! It's a cafe! Not a burger joint!"
He tilted his head slightly, that unsettling calm never wavering. "You desire sustenance. Specifically, fried potatoes."
Before I could protest again, a small paper carton, identical to the one from the staircase in the mansion, appeared on the counter between us. Full of hot, crispy fries. It just… materialized.
My jaw dropped. Mrs. Liu gasped, a small, choked sound. Kevin actually put his phone down, his mouth agape.
"See?" Azrael said, picking up a fry. "Simple."
"You can't just… conjure food!" I hissed at him, keeping my voice low, acutely aware of the stunned silence that had fallen over the cafe.
"Sera!" Mrs. Liu's voice was shrill with outrage and confusion. "Where did those come from?! What is this?!"
Azrael didn't look at her. He just brought the fry to his lips. "For you, Sera," he said, offering the carton slightly towards me. "You were working. You require energy."
"I can't eat right now!" I hissed back, my face burning with humiliation and fury. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid! Him, showing up, causing chaos, treating this like it was normal!
"Take them, wife," he said, his voice still low, but with an edge of command that cut through my panic. He said the word wife. Loud enough for Mrs. Liu, standing rigid beside me, to hear.
Mrs. Liu's head whipped towards me, her eyes wide with shock. "Wife?! Sera! What is going on?! Who the hell is this man? And why is he calling you wife and conjuring fries?!"
"Shut up," Azrael stated, his void eyes finally shifting to Mrs. Liu. His gaze seemed to lock onto something invisible around her. The air grew colder, heavier. The subtle hum from my ring intensified. "And you will not call my wife by her name. You will address her as Mrs. Drevane."
Mrs. Liu visibly recoiled, a look of fear flashing across her face before she could hide it behind anger. "Mrs… Drevane? Your… your wife? Since when?!"
"Your questions are irrelevant and I'd be a fool to even consider answering them," Azrael retorted calmly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that seemed to vibrate in my bones. He looked at Mrs. Liu, and something shifted in his presence. The air around him thickened. The colors in the cafe seemed to mute. The sounds… faded.
The clatter of plates, the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of conversations, the soft music playing – it all died down. Customers, reaching for sugar, sipping coffee, mid-sentence – they froze. Mid-blink. Like statues.
Mrs. Liu stood rigid, her mouth open to shout at me again, but no sound came out. Kevin was frozen mid-scroll, his eyes glazed over. Time. It had stopped. Around Azrael. Around us.
He turned back to me, his expression unreadable in the sudden, eerie silence. The fries carton still floated between us.
"You have been avoiding me, little mortal," he said, his voice a murmur in the frozen stillness. "My calls. My messages. Such behavior is… inefficient."
My throat felt tight. I couldn't even muster a sarcastic retort. Standing there, with time frozen, everyone around us trapped in a temporal bubble, while he talked about my inefficient avoidance tactics… it was too much.
"This isn't… you can't just… freeze time!" I finally managed to whisper, my voice hoarse.
"It is a minor temporal manipulation," he dismissed, taking another fry. "Necessary to ensure our communication is… uninterrupted. You require supervision. And certain marital discussions have yet to occur."
Marital discussions? With time frozen? While my manager was stuck mid-scold?
"What discussions?!" I demanded, finding my voice again, albeit a shaky one.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice further. His void eyes seemed to penetrate right through me. "The consummation of our contract, Sera. It requires attention. Shall we attend to it now? Or after your shift?"
Consummation? My brain stumbled over the word. It sounded… ceremonial? Like some kind of official contract completion thing? "Consummation? What… what does that even mean? Like, paperwork?"
He watched me, that faint amusement returning to his expression. "Paperwork is Lucien's domain. Consummation… is mine." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, raw whisper that sent a jolt through me. "It means… I bind you. Fully. Body and soul. It means… I claim my wife. It means, Sera… I will be fucking you."
My eyes widened in shock. My breath caught in my throat. I was utterly mortified. My husband, Death himself, had just waltzed into my mundane coffee shop job, conjured fries out of thin air because he decided I was hungry, froze everyone mid-action because he wanted to talk, and was now calmly discussing fucking me as if it were a line item on an agenda. The sheer, blunt, terrifying reality of his words, of my entire situation, slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. Fucking me. That's what he meant by consummation. With everyone around us frozen in time.
He leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming in the silent cafe, his void eyes holding a depth of ancient power and possessive intent that took my breath away. He was about to say something else, something that felt final, terrifying.
But before he could, the cafe door burst open.
The jingle of the bell above the door, somehow piercing the frozen silence, startled us both.
Standing there, frozen mid-stride, was Cam. My best friend Cam. She was wearing her usual sporty clothes, her tattoos visible, her face etched with worry and confusion. Her eyes were wide, scanning the room frantically.
Then, her gaze landed on me. And on Azrael. And on the frozen customers.
"Sera!" she shouted, her voice echoing strangely in the stopped time. She wasn't frozen. She could move. She could speak.
She rushed towards me, pushing past the frozen figures. "Sera! Thank god! I've been looking everywhere! I called 911 yesterday when you disappeared! What happened?! How did you get here?!"
She stopped dead, her eyes scanning the cafe again. She looked at the frozen customers, at Mrs. Liu stuck mid-squawk, at Kevin suspended in phone-scrolling purgatory. Then she looked back at me, her face pale.
"What the actual fuck?!" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Sera, what is happening?! Why is everyone… stuck? Why aren't they moving?!"
Her eyes darted to Azrael. She saw him. She saw the frozen people.
And she shouldn't have been able to.