Marco’s mate

Matilda Anderson's POV

The soft hum of the city filters through the thin walls of my tiny apartment as I wake. Another day. Another shift at the café. Another routine meant to keep my mind from drifting to places I don't want to go.

I push the blanket off, stretching as I sit up. The ache in my muscles reminds me that sleep never comes easy. The past never truly lets go.

With a quiet sigh, I stand and make my way to the small corner of my room where my easel stands. My escape.

Canvases some finished, some half-painted are stacked against the wall. Landscapes. Eyes. Dreams I don't fully understand. The last painting I worked on sits in front of me dark strokes of blue and gray, shadows blending together, a storm brewing on the canvas.

I stare at it for a moment, then grab a brush. Just a few minutes. Just a few more details.

The brush moves without thought, adding depth to the stormy sky, blending light and shadow. This is the only place I feel in control. The only time my hands don't shake.

But time slips away when I paint, and before I know it, the sun is creeping higher.

Work.

I set the brush down, wiping my hands on an already-stained cloth before heading to the small dresser across the room. Simple clothes. A pair of jeans, a loose sweater. Just something comfortable for the long hours ahead.

Before I leave, my eyes drift to the sketchbook sitting by my bed. I grab it without thinking, tucking it into my bag.

Maybe today, I'll find something worth painting.

With that, I step outside, completely unaware that today, everything will change.

As i grabs my bag and heads out, a familiar thought lingers in the back of her mind, school.

She's always wanted to be a doctor. To help people. To make a difference. But dreams like that require money, stability things i dont have.Still, i haven't given up.One day, i tells myself. One day, I'll make it happen.

For now, i have my art, my job, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, there's more waiting for me.

The city of Ravenhold is already awake, cars rumbling down the street, people rushing to wherever they need to be. But for a few moments, I can pretend the world is quiet.

But reality always comes back.

A glance at my watch pulls me from my thoughts. Time for work.

I sigh,before heading toward the café. It's a small place, nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. The scent of coffee and fresh bread greets me as I step inside, slipping on my apron, preparing for another long shift.

The day goes as usual customers coming and going, orders being placed, coffee being poured. But then, everything changes.

The warm scent of coffee filled the air, the low murmur of customers creating a steady hum around me. I was wiping down a table near the window when a strange feeling settled over me.A chill. A pressure.

Like I was being watched.

I frowned, glancing up without thinking and then I saw him.

Outside.

Standing just beyond the café's large window, his frame shrouded in the dimming evening light.He was tall, impossibly so, his dark clothing blending with the night. But it wasn't just his size that made my breath catch it was him. His entire presence. Heavy. Suffocating. Predatory.

And then there were his eyes.

Even through the glass, they pierced me golden, sharp, intense. I had never seen eyes like that before. They weren't normal. They weren't human.

For a moment, I couldn't move.I couldn't breathe.

I clutched the cloth in my hand, my fingers gripping it so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Why was he looking at me like that?

Like I was something to be claimed.Something to be taken.

Then, movement.Another man broad-shouldered, nearly as intimidating stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He said something low, his hand pressing against the dark haired man's chest, stopping him from coming closer.I should have looked away.Should have gone back to work and pretended I hadn't seen.But I did see.I saw the way his muscles tensed, the way his jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. The way his eyes never left me.They think I didn't notice.But I did.And somehow, I knew this wasn't over.

I forced myself to look away, my hands trembling slightly as I wiped down the table. But even as I tried to focus on the simple task, my mind raced.

Who was he?

Why was he looking at me like that?

I swallowed hard and dared another glance toward the window.

He was gone.

A shaky breath escaped me, my chest loosening slightly. Maybe I imagined it—the way his golden eyes had locked onto mine, the sheer intensity of him. Maybe I was just tired, overthinking things.But then I noticed something else.His friend.

The one who had stopped him.

He was still there, lingering just outside, leaning against a lamppost across the street. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes? They were on me.

Watching.My heart stuttered.

I turned away quickly, my fingers tightening around the cloth in my hands.

No. This wasn't my imagination. Something was wrong.

Even after the man with golden eyes had left, he had left someone behind.

And now, I was being watched.I forced myself to keep moving, to keep working, but I could feel it.That weight pressing down on me. That creeping awareness that someone's eyes were still on me.Every time I turned toward the window, his friend was still there watching. He didn't try to come in, didn't make a scene. He just stood there, arms crossed, leaning casually against the lamppost like he had nowhere else to be.But I wasn't stupid. He was here for a reason.For me.The realization made my stomach twist.I wiped my sweaty palms against my apron and forced myself to breathe. Maybe he'd leave soon. Maybe he was just waiting for someone. Maybe The door chimed.

My head snapped up so fast it made me dizzy, but it wasn't him. Not the golden-eyed man. Not his friend, either. Just another customer.

I let out a slow breath, shaking off the tension. You're overreacting, Matilda.

But even as I tried to convince myself, my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I finished wiping down the counter and slipped into the back kitchen, pretending to grab something from the shelf. I just needed a second. A moment to think.

I should leave early. Go straight home. Lock the doors.

But what if he follows me?

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. I couldn't just walk out into the night alone, not when there was a stranger waiting outside.

And not when I had the horrible, sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Even after an hour, even after forcing myself to focus on work, the unease clung to me like a second skin.So, I made a decision I wasn't staying until closing.I slipped into the back room, untied my apron, and told my manager I wasn't feeling well. It wasn't exactly a lie. My skin was clammy, my stomach tight with nerves. Something was wrong.

The moment I stepped outside, my pulse quickened.i glanced around, my breath hitching. He was gone.

No broad-shouldered stranger leaning against the lamppost. No shadowy figure waiting outside.A shaky laugh left me. Maybe I really was overthinking things. Maybe it was all in my head.Still, I didn't linger. I hurried home, locking the door the second I stepped inside my small apartment. The familiar space helped ease some of the tension in my chest.I needed something normal. Something simple.So, I made ice cream.

Not store bought I didn't have the money for that luxury. Instead, I grabbed a frozen banana from the freezer, blended it with some cocoa powder and a splash of milk. It wasn't much, but it was sweet and comforting.

I curled up on my couch, the bowl in my lap, forcing myself to focus on anything but the feeling that had haunted me all evening.

By the time I finished, exhaustion settled in. Too much thinking. Too much fear.

I pulled my blanket up to my chin and closed my eyes, telling myself that tomorrow would be better.

That today was just a weird, one-time thing.