Chapter Five: Coordinates and Coffee

The first sunlight of the day leaked through the blinds, painting lines across Maya’s face as her alarm buzzed insistently. She groaned, rolled over, and slapped the button to silence it. Another day, another shift at the retirement home.

By 7:00 a.m., she was already in uniform, coat zipped to the chin, standing in front of the building’s glass doors. With a practiced hand, she unlocked the entrance, pressed the elevator key, and shuffled inside. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and peppermint—comforting in a weird way.

Maya’s café was a cozy corner off the main lobby, with pastel green counters and a warm glow from faux-wood panel lights. She moved like clockwork—wiping tables, aligning the sugar packets, setting out the mugs. She checked the appointments list for the residents. A quiet morning, thankfully. A few checkups, a physio session, and one dentist visit. No chaos yet.

The elevator dinged again, and coworkers began trickling in—some bleary-eyed, others overly cheerful. All of them smiled when they saw her.

"Thank God it's you today," someone muttered under their breath.

She smirked. "Only the best barista-slash-receptionist in the building."

“Three coffees, Maya,” Alex said, walking over with his usual hoodie and half-awake expression. “Regulars. No sugar, no nonsense.”

Maya already had the machine humming. “You got it. What’s the gossip?”

Alex leaned on the counter, glancing at the clock. “Mrs. Novak locked herself in the storage closet again. We had to bribe her out with chocolate pudding.”

“She really said no thoughts, just dessert, huh?” Maya quipped.

“Exactly. How’s your morning?”

“I’m still vertical and caffeinated. That’s a win.”

He chuckled. “No argument here.”

Maya passed him the tray of coffees, and he disappeared down the hall with a lazy wave. She returned to the desk, answering phones, logging appointments, and smiling at every visitor that walked in. Residents wandered by to say hello, some just to ask what day it was, others wanting coffee and a quick chat.

Around mid-morning, the sound of clunky shoes echoed toward her desk.

“Ah, here comes trouble,” Maya muttered playfully.

Mrs. Mila, a spry 81-year-old with hair like a white cotton puff, waddled up with her cane and narrowed eyes.

“I had to limp all the way here for my coffee,” she grumbled.

“You say that like it wasn’t your third cup today.”

“Well, if you made them stronger, I wouldn’t need three.”

Maya slid her a mug with a grin. “If I made them any stronger, you’d be doing laps around the garden like you’re in the Olympics.”

“Maybe I should. Might finally impress that widower on floor two.”

“Get it, queen,” Maya said, fist-bumping her.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of paperwork, laughter, and coffee refills. When the evening shift arrived, Maya clocked out and headed outside, where Eva was waiting in the car.

They drove home with the radio playing low, talking about nothing in particular. Maya made lunch—pasta with creamy mushroom sauce—and the two sisters collapsed onto the couch with Gucci curled up in Eva’s lap and Nodi, as usual, eyeing everything from under the table.

After an episode or two of their latest show and some sisterly banter, they met up with Mark outside. They sipped instant coffee, played a couple of chaotic rounds of Uno, and shouted answers at a crossword puzzle none of them could finish.

By the time the moon rose, they were back inside. Maya showered, tied her hair in a messy bun, and slipped into pajamas. She scrolled aimlessly through social media, Gucci purring at her feet, when a notification pinged.

A message. No contact name. No words. Just coordinates.

Her heart stuttered.

She knew what it meant.

She glanced at Eva, who was already dozing off, curled up like a cat in her own bed. Quietly, Maya got up, grabbed her gear, and slipped out the door.

The coordinates led her deep into the woods. She parked a safe distance away and stepped into the darkness, flashlight off, hand on her weapon.

About twenty minutes in, she saw movement—a blur, fast and silent. A male figure, darting through the trees.

Vampire.

Her breath hitched. She crouched, eyes alert.

She walked another hour through the cold, damp woods, branches crunching underfoot, until she heard voices. And snarls.

Creeping closer, she spotted five vampires surrounding a man. She cursed under her breath.

No way she was taking on five alone. But she had holy oil and dead man’s blood. She crafted a trap in seconds—splashing the oil in a circle, soaking a rag with blood, wrapping it around a tiny homemade bomb.

With a flick of her lighter and a quick prayer, she tossed the rig into the circle.

Boom.

Fire exploded into the air. The vampires screamed and scattered like rats. Maya emerged, weapon drawn, scanning the smoke.

The guy on the ground coughed. “That was… dramatic.”

Maya stepped forward—and stopped dead.

No. Freaking. Way.

Through the haze, she saw that same soft smile, the same golden-touched hair, the same brown eyes that somehow looked like sunlight through honey.

“…You,” she breathed.

“Hi again,” Jack said gently, like they’d just run into each other at a grocery store.

“You have got to be kidding me.”