Surprise Encounter Hayley’s POV:
Nocturne didn’t believe me–he just turned and bolted.
I stared at the lingering cloud of smoke curling up from the bomb he’d dropped, then let out a long, helpless sigh.
Seriously? Is that really necessary? Isn’t he being dramatic?
I mean, I do look like a harmless little Omega girl. Even if I had tricked him, did he really need to throw down a smoke bomb just to escape me?
Once more, I sighed again, more exasperated than anything, then calmly shut the door. After that, I walked over, crouched down, and picked up the still-warm canister from the floor.
In the kitchen, I grabbed a decent-sized knife and, in no time at all, had the thing taken apart into a scattered pile of components.
At last, the smoke stopped.
Pulling out my phone, I messaged Dominic. “What’s wrong with this Nocturne guy? Is he always this dumb?”
They say he was the most elite werewolf after Thomas, but if this is how he operates–impulsive and panicky–then it’s only a matter of time before he gets himself into real trouble.
Originally, I had planned to squeeze some info out of him—especially about Tom and his wife. But now, it looked like that would have to wait.
Since our meeting was cut short, I switched gears and started going through Byrd Jewelry’s performance data instead.
I kept at it until eight o’clock, when my stomach finally growled loud enough to remind me I hadn’t eaten all day. I put those documents aside and went out to grab a bite.
Maybe it’s the rogue instincts I picked up as a kid, but I’ve never had much patience for fancy meals with delicate plating. I’ve always preferred the raw flavor and comfort of street food.
So I left the hotel and headed straight for the food street.
With three or four takeout boxes in my bag and a grilled sausage in hand, I strolled back the way I came, chewing as I walked. I was just about to order a crepe at the end of the street when I saw something up ahead–a local woman arguing with a female werewolf.
The werewolf woman was clearly flustered, repeating over and over, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is this enough?” while desperately pulling bills from her wallet.
The older human woman refused to let go of the money and tried to explain something in broken local language. She looked frustrated.
I stopped in my tracks. Once I got a clear look at the werewolf’s face, I smiled faintly and walked over.
“Ma’am,” I said, gently stepping between them. “She’s saying she doesn’t want your money. She’s offering it to you for free.”
The woman froze, confused–then realized she’d misunderstood. Her face turned red with embarrassment. “Oh no, I can’t do that,” she stammered, turning back to the vendor. “You run a small business–I can’t take advantage of you.”
And just like that, they were back to politely shoving money at each other.
I watched their back-and-forth, rubbing my temple, then reached over to the little cart and picked up a flyer from a small stack. I held it out to the werewolf woman.
“It’s not about the money,” I said. “Her son’s missing. She knows you’re not from around here and hopes you’ll take these flyers with you, spread them, and help her find him.”
The vendor’s face lit up when she heard me explain it for her. She let go of the werewolf’s hand and smiled so widely it crinkled her whole face.
In the end, the two of us each ordered a crepe, and we promised to take more flyers with us to help spread the word.
The vendor was overjoyed, practically glowing as she prepared the food.
While I chatted with the vendor, I noticed the werewolf woman discreetly tucking a few 100-dollar bills under the edge of the cart.
She did it quietly, almost like a secret—but not quietly enough to escape my eyes.
We left the street together, and as we walked, I teased her lightly. “You’re pretty generous, huh?”
She laughed and pointed at the thick stack of flyers in my hand. “And you’re not? That was a kind thing you did.”
We shared a smile, the kind that comes naturally between strangers who somehow get each other.
“Thanks again for stepping in,” she said. “Are you from Cyclone Pack?”
I shook my head and explained, “Nah. Just happen to understand the local dialect.”
She looked surprised. “Oh! That’s impressive. The dialect here’s tricky–I’ve lived here for years and still can’t speak it.”
Then something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name! I’m Becky Sweet. You are…?”
“Hayley Carson.”
“Well, Hayley, you helped me out–let’s exchange contacts. I owe you a coffee.” Becky pulled out her phone. “No need,” I said, smiling. “We’ll talk tomorrow if we run into each other again.”
With both hands full, I didn’t take her contact. I just gave her a nod and turned to head back the way I came. Back in my room, I munched on my food while opening up my laptop to reach out to Dominic.
He hadn’t joined me on this trip–still too weak to fly–so he was back at HQ monitoring internal communications within the SI Organization.
But that’s not why I was calling this time. I needed to talk to him about the flyer I saw–the one from that vendor back on Food Street.
I had already read the whole thing. Every word.