The world didn't end with a bang. It ended with coffee and sunlight and the illusion of safety.
Rosa Torres sat at a corner table in a small café two cities away from anywhere she used to be known. Her new name was neatly printed on her rental receipt. Her hair was darker now, tucked beneath a soft knit beanie. No one looked twice at her anymore, and that was how she survived.
She stirred her espresso with a silver spoon, watching the crema swirl like ink across a page. A half eaten croissant flaked across a white plate. Everything around her was painfully, beautifully normal.
That's what made it dangerous.
Across from her, a man in a sharp coat tapped away on his laptop. A woman behind her laughed too loudly on the phone. Somewhere outside, a bus hissed to a stop. Pedestrians passed the windows in a blur of movement and color, like a film playing too fast.
Rosa barely blinked.
Her eyes were fixed on the thin black folder in her lap, partially hidden beneath the table.
The Verge.
The name was branded across the tab in smudged ink, as if even the paper wanted to forget.
She flipped another page. Notes. Maps. Redacted transcripts. Dates. Names circled in red.
"Jesus Christ," she murmured under her breath, voice low, breath fogging the page. "They were doing this the whole time."
She should've burned it. She should've destroyed it the moment she got out.
But she couldn't—not with what it could expose. Not with what it could fix.
Not with the lives it could save.
Her hands trembled as she reached for her phone. She had an encrypted contact, a journalist who owed her a favor. Just one meeting. One upload. And then she could vanish for good. Daniella and Camila would never need to know.
But as she opened the messenger app, something made her pause.
A shift. Small, but sharp.
The man across from her—the one in the coat—had stopped typing.
The barista wasn't at the counter anymore.
No hum of the espresso machine.
No laughter behind her.
She glanced up, heart skipping.
The café was empty.
Tables half-cleared. Dishes left behind. The front door still swinging softly on its hinges.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"What the hell...?"
Her voice echoed. Too loud. Like someone had turned the sound design up just a little too much, as if the world wanted her to notice how quiet it had become.
She stood slowly, clutching the folder to her chest.
"Hello?" she called out.
No answer.
She crossed to the counter. No one.
She stepped to the window and looked out.
The street was still there. Cars. Shops. Lights. But the people—gone. Like someone had scrubbed them out of the frame.
Goosebumps prickled down her spine.
She turned back to the table, reaching for her phone.
It was gone.
YOU ARE READING
LIAR | WEN JUNHUI
Fanfiction"Everyone lies, Daniella. You just haven't caught them yet" Everyone says Jun is a liar. But Daniella doesn't have the luxury of caring he might be the only one who can keep her alive. After her mother's death, Daniella Torres just wants to protect...
