Download Traveller Of Two Worlds PDF

Burnt espresso and cinnamon mingled in the coffee shop's aroma, a comforting haze that Lila Morgan breathed in as she wiped down the counter. The morning rush had just ended, leaving behind a trail of crumpled napkins, half-empty cups, and the faint echo of hurried voices. Outside, the city pulsed-cars honked, pedestrians shuffled along the rain-slick sidewalk, and the gray skyline of skyscrapers loomed under a drizzle that refused to commit to real rain.

Lila's hands moved on autopilot, scrubbing a stubborn coffee ring, but her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the shadows that clung to the edges of her vision, restless and hungry.

She glanced at the clock above the espresso machine: 10:47 a.m. Another six hours until her shift ended. Another six hours of pretending she was just another twenty-three-year-old barista, not someone who could make shadows twist and bend like clay in her hands. The thought made her stomach tighten, a familiar knot of fear and defiance. She shoved it down, focusing on the damp rag in her hand, its rough texture grounding her. Normal. She was normal. At least, she had to be.

"Lila, you good?" Marcus, her coworker, leaned against the counter, his apron stained with milk foam and his dark curls falling into his eyes. He was all easy smiles and effortless charm, the kind of person who could coax a tip from even the grumpiest customer with a well-timed joke.

"Yeah, just zoned out," Lila said, forcing a grin that felt brittle on her lips. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, aware of how her pale skin probably betrayed the exhaustion etched into her bones. Sleep had been elusive lately, chased away by dreams she couldn't quite grasp-fragmented images of dark corridors, whispering voices, and eyes that watched from the void. They left her feeling exposed, as if someone had peeled back her carefully constructed mask.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering a moment too long. "You sure? You've been, like, extra quiet today. Not that you're ever Miss Chatty, but still. Something's off."

Lila rolled her eyes, grateful for his teasing. It was the closest thing to connection she allowed herself these days, a fragile tether to the normalcy she craved. "I'm fine, Marcus. Go charm the next customer before they start yelling about decaf."

He laughed, saluting her with a mock-serious nod before heading to the register, where a woman in a sharp blazer was already tapping her foot. Lila turned back to the counter, her reflection flickering in the polished chrome of the espresso machine. Sharp cheekbones, gray-green eyes that seemed too bright in the dim light, a faint scar above her left eyebrow from a childhood she buried deep. She looked ordinary enough, but she knew better. The shadows knew better too.

They were always there, pooling in corners, stretching across walls, whispering in a language only she could feel-a soft, insistent hum that vibrated in her chest. Most people saw shadows as absence, places where light failed. Lila saw them as alive, restless, waiting for her to give them shape. She'd learned to ignore them, mostly, locking them away like a secret she couldn't afford to share. But sometimes, when she was tired or distracted, they stirred, curling toward her like smoke seeking a draft, their edges sharpening into forms she didn't dare name.

She shook her head, banishing the thought. Not here. Not now. She grabbed a tray of dirty mugs and headed to the back, weaving through the cluttered storage room to the sink. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows across the cracked tile floor. For a moment, she let herself relax, letting the shadows ripple slightly, a private rebellion. They danced, forming fleeting shapes-a bird in flight, a hand reaching out, a face with hollow eyes-before she snapped her focus back, and they stilled, obedient but resentful.

"Careful," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the hum of the dishwasher. She couldn't afford to slip. Not in a city where cameras were everywhere, where a single viral video could expose her. She'd seen what happened to people like her-whispers of "freaks" or "monsters," followed by disappearance, their names erased from the world. Her family had made sure she understood the stakes before she'd left them behind, their warnings etched into her like scars.

The thought of her family sent a familiar ache through her chest, sharp and cold. She hadn't spoken to them in five years, not since she'd walked away from their world of secrets and power. Her mother's cold disapproval, her brother Darian's calculating gaze, the council's suffocating rules-they were a life she'd rejected, a cage she'd broken free from. But freedom came with a price. She was alone, always looking over her shoulder, always hiding who she was. The city was her refuge, but it was also a labyrinth, its shadows both her shield and her cage.

Lila rinsed the mugs, the hot water stinging her hands. She didn't mind the burn; it grounded her, kept her tethered to the present, away from the memories that clawed at her. She was almost done when the bell above the shop's door chimed, sharp and insistent, cutting through the low murmur of the café. Marcus's voice carried through the wall, greeting someone with his usual warmth, but there was a slight hitch in his tone, a subtle tension that made Lila pause. She dried her hands on her apron and headed back to the front, expecting another caffeine-deprived office worker or a harried parent.

Instead, she froze. A man stood at the counter, his back to her, his long coat dripping rainwater onto the worn wooden floor. He was tall, his posture rigid, and something about him felt... wrong, like a note played out of tune. The shadows around him seemed denser, heavier, as if they were drawn to him, clinging to his form like a second skin. Lila's pulse quickened, a primal instinct urging her to run. She forced herself to move, stepping behind the counter with a practiced smile that felt like a lie.

"What can I get you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her gut, a cold weight that pressed against her ribs.

The man turned, and Lila's breath caught in her throat. His face was unremarkable-pale, angular, with dark eyes that seemed to swallow the light-but there was an intensity to him, a quiet menace that made her skin prickle. He studied her for a moment too long, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile that sent a shiver down her spine. The air around him seemed to thicken, the shadows pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

"Black coffee," he said, his voice low, almost a purr, with an edge that felt like it could cut. "No sugar."

Lila nodded, turning to the espresso machine to hide her discomfort. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unyielding, like a weight pressing down on her chest. The shadows in the room pulsed, a subtle throb she felt in her bones, urging her to act, to fight, to flee. She clenched her jaw, willing them to stay still. Don't react. Don't give him a reason to suspect.