JIM-011
Barista: Julia Morningstar
Date: Jan-2-2020
Receipt: JIM-011
Subject: Missing
…
[The rooftop of the Fourth Cafe Penthouse. The city stretched before Julia, sprawling and endless, the neon glow of Hollywood washing over the skyline. The air was crisp, but not cold. She sat at the ledge, knees tucked to her chest, staring into the distance.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been there. Time felt strange—slow, detached. Her thoughts scattered like city lights, flickering, distant. A million little stars in a sea of darkness.]
Julia: …
[A shadow moved behind her. Cautious footsteps. Slow, a little awkward. She didn’t turn. She knew who it was.
Jean-Marc lowered himself beside her, settling onto the rooftop with the ease of someone who had done this many nights before—someone who had watched the world from a height and seen the same little lights twinkling in the murky unknown.]
Jean-Marc: …
[Silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just silence.
The city murmured below—distant sirens, laughter carried by the wind, the low thrum of traffic. The heartbeat of the world, still moving.]
Julia: …You didn’t know?
Jean-Marc: She took it from me. She told me—then, she must have thought it would be safer if I didn’t know. Safer for both of us.
Julia: Why?
Jean-Marc: You’ve seen it. This line of work—it’s dangerous. To hold the 8-Ball. To defy Fate. She wanted to keep you safe.
[He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His hands curled together, fingers brushing over old scars.]
Julia: I’ve… got to go. It’s getting late.
Jean-Marc: I’m sorry. It was a mistake—putting you with them. I don’t know why she— I suppose it doesn’t matter now.
Julia: It’s late. And we’ve got an early flight, don’t we?