Page 22 of Problematic

Liv: I’m allowed to ask

Sam: This is above my paygrade

Sam: Looks like a watcher ward though

Sam: Or like

Sam: “hurt this girl and die screaming” vibes

Liv: Why would anyone put that on my door???

Sam: Secret admirer 👀

Liv: Ew 🤢

Sam: Hot secret admirer?

Liv: Still ew

Sam: Show Mandi on break

Sam: DO NOT TOUCH IT

Liv: Wasn’t gonna

Sam: You say that like you have survival instincts

Liv: Rude but fair

I shoved the phone into my pocket and stepped over the threshold with exaggerated care.

The ward hummed as I passed, a soft ripple sliding over my skin.

Protective.

Possessive.

That made my stomach twist.

I locked the door behind me, then stared at the sigil for one more second. It caught the dim stairwell light, dark grooves cut into blue paint. Someone had carved it with intent.

For me.

I hated how that thought warmed some sad, underfed part of me. “No,” I whispered, turning away. “Absolutely not.”

Outside, the morning slapped me with cold air. The sky sat dull and gray above Harlow Street, the city still half asleep, neon signs blinking awake in windows, gutters steaming faintly from last night’s rain.

I walked fast, hands in my hoodie pocket, my neck still itching.

Average bloodline, I thought as my boots hit the sidewalk. Average job. Average apartment. Average girl with no designation and a gift for making lattes under pressure.

People didn’t carve serious protection wards for girls like me.

People forgot girls like me existed unless we owed rent, made drinks, or blocked an exit.

By the time New Abaddon City Coffee came into view, my thoughts had chewed themselves raw. The sign buzzed green above the door. OPEN blinked on its little charm loop, though I had twenty minutes before customers officially got to ruin my peace.

I unlocked the shop, slipped inside, and let the familiar smell of beans and sugar drag me back into my body.