Part 87
It starts small.
A decision made between one heartbeat and the next. No storm, no shouting, no breaking glass — just a quiet click inside her mind.
If he won't come with me willingly, I'll make it easy for him.
Alex moves with eerie calm, her actions deliberate. She parks a few streets away from the café, near the old hardware shop that closes before sunset. Her reflection in the window looks different tonight — colder, emptier, almost like a stranger's.
She buys nothing dangerous, nothing suspicious. Just harmless things: sleeping pills, tea, a clean thermos. Ordinary objects that mean nothing until she holds them together in her hands.
By the time she returns to her apartment, her thoughts have sharpened into a single, gleaming thread. The plan is simple — make him rest. He's been working too much. He's tired. He needs peace.
She repeats this like a prayer as she measures the powder into the tea. The soft clink of the spoon sounds almost tender.
"He'll thank me later," she whispers.
When the night settles thick and heavy, Alex drives back to the countryside road. The café's lights are off, except for the faint glow of the kitchen. Adrian must still be cleaning. She waits until she sees him turn off the last switch, lock the door, and step out into the moonlight.
Her pulse steadies.
It's time.
She steps out of the car, the sound of gravel crunching under her shoes startling a sleeping dog nearby. She freezes, waits, then moves again — silent, determined.
In her hands, she carries a paper bag with his "favorite tea." The one she's seen him drink every night before closing.
She smiles faintly at the thought. A perfect detail.
When he turns around at the sound of her voice —
"Adrian."
He looks surprised, not yet alarmed.
"Alex? What are you doing here—"
And she smiles wider, soft and trembling.
"You look so tired. I brought you something warm."