CHAPTER ONE: Just a Dream
The sound of rustling leaves came first—then the cold. Then the blood.
She was running. Her breath ragged. Trees blurred past her as moonlight flickered through the branches. Someone was shouting behind her. She didn't look back. She knew that voice. She used to love it.
Then something slammed into her from the side. The ground disappeared beneath her. The sharp crack of bone meeting rock filled the air.
Her body collapsed in the dirt. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
A silhouette stepped out of the shadows. And just before everything went black, she heard her name whispered like a curse.
"Liyara."
---
Tessa jolted upright, gasping. Her fingers clawed at the thin blanket twisted around her, her body slick with sweat despite the cold. The cement beneath her hips was unforgiving, her back stiff from another night spent outside.
She exhaled slowly. One breath. Then another. Just a dream. The same dream. Again.
The morning was quiet—too quiet. The street outside the bar was still, bathed in the gray haze of dawn. She was curled up beneath the side awning, where she and Leslie usually crashed after hours. It wasn't legal. It wasn't comfortable. But it was what they had.
She ran a hand over her face, forcing the images of the dream away. The screams. The trees. That voice. She didn't know what it meant, only that it had started months ago and kept coming back stronger, more vivid.
She wasn't the type to get haunted by dreams. Tessa laughed them off. She had to. Life had already handed her too many burdens. But this one… this one left a strange ache in her chest. Like something she'd lost but couldn't name.
She glanced beside her. Leslie was still asleep, curled into herself like a kitten, the blanket pulled up to her nose. Tessa smiled faintly and nudged her with a socked foot.
"Wake up, sunshine."
Leslie groaned and turned her face to the wall.
Tessa stood and stretched, her joints popping like old furniture. The key to the bar dangled from her wrist on a faded red string. She slipped it into the lock and stepped inside.
The air greeted her like it always did—stale beer, old smoke, and wood polish. The same lights that flickered every time she flipped the switch. Same half-broken stools. Same cracked mirror behind the bar.
She didn't hate it. The familiarity gave her something to hold on to. Something real.
Within minutes, she had the mop in hand and music playing softly from the back speaker. Nothing fast. Just rhythm. Her body moved without needing to think—mopping, wiping, organizing. She was always the first one in, the last one out.
Leslie eventually dragged herself in, still yawning, hair a mess.
"I dreamed I was rich," she mumbled, dropping onto a bar stool. "Then I woke up on the sidewalk with drool on my cheek."
Tessa laughed and tossed her a rag. "Maybe next lifetime."
Leslie rested her chin on the counter. "Honestly, I don't know how you do it. Smile all the time. Work like a damn robot. You ever get tired of pretending this is fine?"
Tessa leaned on the bar, arms folded. Her smile didn't fade, but her eyes sharpened just a little.
"I don't pretend. I just choose not to drown."
Leslie scoffed softly but didn't argue. Tessa had always been like that—sunny, unbreakable, even when the world gave her every reason to fold.
But when Leslie turned away to grab glasses from the back, Tessa paused. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the bar. Just for a second, her smile slipped.
The dream again. The name. Liyara. Who the hell was that?
She shook her head and moved on. Today was just another shift.
---
By evening, the bar was alive with music and smoke. The band was warming up in the corner, the crowd was just beginning to roll in—suits, students, loners, the usual mix. Tessa slid between tables with easy grace, dodging wandering hands and lazy stares like it was second nature.
She wasn't just good at her job. She owned the room. She could take a man's wallet and hand him back his pride with a smile.
So when the man walked in, she barely looked.
He wasn't loud. Wasn't striking. Just a black shirt, clean jeans, and eyes that scanned the room like he was counting shadows. He sat at the far end of the bar, quiet, watching.
She didn't get nervous easily, but something about the way he looked at her—not lustful, not leering—made her feel like she was under glass.
He said nothing until she reached him.
"What'll it be?" she asked.
He glanced at the shelf behind her, then met her eyes. His voice was calm, low.
"Something strong."
She poured without asking questions. He didn't smile, didn't flirt, just nodded his thanks.
"You new in town?" she asked, more out of habit than interest.
He looked at her for a moment too long. Then, "Let's say I'm passing through."
"Well," she said, sliding the drink toward him, "hope the drink's enough to make you stay a little longer."
Something in his expression shifted—just for a heartbeat. Like he almost smiled, but stopped himself.
He drank in silence. She moved on.
When she returned, the glass was empty. He stood, pulling something from his pocket—a card. Plain, no name, just a number.
"If we meet again," he said, sliding it across the bar, "maybe we'll talk longer."
Before she could respond, he was gone.
She stood there for a second, holding the card between her fingers. No dramatic music. No slow-motion. Just a strange feeling in her stomach. Like the dream hadn't ended after all.
But she blinked it away and went back to work. After all, it was just another customer. Just another night.
And yet… something about him didn't feel finished.
The bar thinned out by closing time. The neon signs buzzed softly overhead as the staff wiped down tables and stacked chairs. Tessa was about to unplug the sound system when she heard his voice.
"Back here, Tess."
It came from the hallway. Rick's door stood open.
She didn't roll her eyes. Didn't sigh. Just handed Leslie the towel, quietly, and walked into the back.
The office light was dim, yellow and cheap. Rick was already leaning back in his chair, legs wide, pants undone. His belt dangled from the desk edge like a forgotten leash.
"Shut the door," he said.
She did.
The second it clicked, he was on his feet. His hands grabbed her hips, turning her around. She didn't resist. He bent her over the desk roughly, yanked her skirt up, and pulled her underwear down in one smooth motion.
"You know what time it is," he muttered.
His hands weren't gentle. They gripped, pushed, held her in place. Her cheek was pressed against a stack of invoices as he entered her without warning, hard and fast.
Her body jerked at the impact. She braced herself with both hands on the desk. Her mind drifted. She stared at a stain on the wood, counting the rings.
This was just part of the job.
He grunted behind her, thrusting hard, each movement fast, sharp, impersonal. No words. No heat. Just motion. Flesh.
Footsteps approached outside.
The office door opened without a knock.
Leslie stood there, arms folded, unbothered.
"Rick. Your favorite customer's out front."
He didn't stop. Just groaned low and kept going, hips slamming against Tessa's backside like she wasn't even there.
Leslie leaned against the frame.
"Wants you to bring his drink yourself," she added.
Rick cursed softly under his breath but finally slowed. Pulled out. Zipped up.
Tessa was still bent over the desk. She adjusted her underwear slowly, stood upright, and pulled her skirt down without looking at either of them.
Rick wiped sweat from his forehead with a paper napkin.
Then smirked. "Give the guy a rough kiss before you leave, huh?"
Tessa didn't reply. She walked past Leslie, back into the quiet of the bar.
No one looked twice.
She picked up her tray.
And went right back to work.