Chapter 1

The phone rang at 6:47 PM, and Annie already knew it was trouble. She’d been staring at the stack of overdue rent notices on the coffee table, each one more aggressive than the last. The electric bill was due in three days, and her tip jar had been pathetic all week.

“Annie, hi. It’s me.” Her boss’s voice crackled through the line, apologetic and rushed. “I know this is last minute, but Maria called in sick. The night shift… I really need someone. Can you cover it? I’ll double your hourly.”

Double. That word cut through the exhaustion. Annie glanced at the pile of bills, her cracked phone screen, the empty fridge. She didn’t have a choice. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

She hung up and grabbed her jacket. The street was already dark, the kind of November darkness that made her pull her sleeves over her knuckles. The boba shop was only ten minutes away, tucked between a laundromat and a closed-down bakery. She’d worked there for six months, long enough to know the syrup recipes by heart, but night shifts were rare. The shop closed at eleven, so the last hour was usually just cleaning and maybe a few stragglers.

Annie unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to Open. The fluorescent lights hummed above rows of syrups—taro, honeydew, strawberry, mango. She tied on her apron, started the water heater, and got to work. Making boba was a ritual: boil the pearls, rinse them in cold water, mix the syrup with green tea. She moved on autopilot, letting her mind drift to the better things—maybe next month, if she saved enough, she could get a new mattress. Or finally fix the bathroom faucet.

The first hour was quiet. One woman ordered a mango milk tea, and a guy in a hoodie got a jasmine latte. Annie made their drinks, wiped down the counter, and checked her phone. No messages. The shop felt emptier than usual, the silence pressing in.

Then she saw him.

Through the front window, just beyond the glow of the streetlamp, a figure stood still. Annie’s hand froze on the tap. It was a guy about her age—messy brown hair, dark eyes, a slight slouch to his shoulders. She recognized the face before she could stop herself: Alex. She hadn't seen him in over a year, not since the last day of high school, when people said he’d gotten into serious trouble. Jail, someone whispered. The rumor stuck.

Her stomach dropped. What was he doing here? Why was he just standing there? She backed away from the window, bumping into the cold drink fridge. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

He didn’t move. Just watched.

Annie’s mind raced. He shouldn’t be here. He should be… somewhere else. She didn’t know his story, only that he was trouble. That’s what everyone said. And now he was looking at her like he had all the time in the world.

“Get it together,” she muttered. Maybe he’s just a customer. Maybe he’s gonna buy a drink. She forced herself to breathe, to pretend normal. She picked up a cup and set it under the drink station, ready to take an order.

The door jingled as he pushed it open.

Alex stepped in slowly, his eyes scanning the shop like he owned it. He wore a black hoodie, unzipped, with a white T-shirt underneath. His hands were shoved in his pockets. He looked at Annie, and his lips curved into a slow smile.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was low, almost soft.

Annie’s hands gripped the counter. “Can I help you?”

“You remember me, right? Alex.” He moved closer, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum. “We went to the same high school. I always saw you after class.”

She remembered. He used to hang around the bleachers, sometimes pulling girls into the parking lot. They’d never spoken, but she knew his reputation. “Yeah. I remember.”

He gave a slight nod, then looked at the menu. “I just got out. Yesterday.”

Her throat tightened. “That's… uh, that’s good.”

He laughed, a short, dry sound. “Is it? I dunno yet.” He leaned against the counter, his face close enough that she could see the faint scar above his eyebrow. “You look good, Annie.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice flat. “Are you gonna order something? Otherwise, I need to close soon.”

His smile faltered. “You got a number?”

“What?”

“Your phone number. I want it.” He said it like it was a fact, not a question.

Annie shook her head. “No. I’m not giving you my number.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Then he shrugged, easy as water. “Fine. Then give me a drink. Any flavor you like.”

She blinked. “Any flavor?”

“Yeah. Surprise me.” He slid a few crumpled bills onto the counter and stepped back, hands in his pockets.

Annie turned to the syrup bottles, her mind scrambling. Why did he want her to choose? What was he playing at? She grabbed the strawberry syrup—it was safe, sweet, normal. She made a strawberry milk tea, threw in some boba, and slid the cup across the counter.

Alex took it. He didn’t sip it, just held it. “Thanks.” Then he walked out, the door jingling shut behind him.

Annie stood frozen for a full minute. She watched him cross the street and disappear into the alley. Then she exhaled, shaky and warm against the cold air. She made more boba. Routine helped. She mixed more honeydew, more taro, more classic black tea. She let the work quiet her nerves.

Around ten thirty, her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She almost ignored it, but her finger swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

“Annie.”

The voice was unmistakable. Alex. “You called me?” she said, her throat dry.

“Yep. I had a feeling you’d pick up.” A pause. “You alone in that shop?”

“Alex, I’m gonna call the police.”

He laughed again, that dry, hollow sound. “You don’t even know where I am.”

Then the line went dead. Annie stared at her phone. The battery icon flickered and the screen went black. Dead. It was dead.

“No no no…” She tried to turn it back on, but nothing. The shop was silent except for the hum of the cooler. No customers. Not a single person in sight. She looked out the window. The street was empty.

Maybe he’s gone. Maybe it was a prank. She forced herself to step outside, just to check. The night air hit her skin, sharp and cold. She stood on the sidewalk, hugging herself.

Then she saw him.

He was standing right under the streetlamp, but his face was covered. A creepy mask—white, with a wide, painted-on smile, eyes slits, like something from a nightmare. Annie froze. The smile seemed to move as he tilted his head.

“You look scared,” he said, his voice muffled.

She stumbled backward toward the door. “The customers—you scared them all away! That mask…”

“I don’t care about customers.” He stepped closer. “I want you to be with me.”

“No.” The word came out stronger than she felt. “No, I won’t.”

He stopped. The mask stared back, blank and hollow. Then he turned, almost lazily, and walked toward the alley. The darkness swallowed him. One second he was there, the next he was gone, like he’d never existed.

Annie ran back inside, locked the door, and leaned against it, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. The shop felt smaller now, the silence louder. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t have a phone. She had to finish her shift.

She made more boba. Taro. Mango. Strawberry. Her hands shook, but she worked anyway. Counting down the minutes until she could leave.

When the clock hit eleven, she gathered her things, unlocked the door, and ran home. She didn’t look back. But she knew, deep in her bones, that this wasn’t over.

The night had teeth. And they were still watching her from the dark.