He retreated one step.

The deliveryman followed, breathing hard enough that saliva clung to the corner of his mouth.

Luke forced himself to watch the man’s shoulders instead of the crowbar.

The right one pulled back.

High attack.

Luke lowered himself and moved aside, allowing the metal bar to sweep past his head. The man’s momentum carried him forward, and Luke struck the side of his knee with the wooden shaft.

A dull thud filled the café.

The deliveryman’s leg buckled, dropping him onto one knee.

Luke turned the weapon and thrust toward his chest.

Panic changed the angle at the last moment. His arms refused to drive the jagged point toward the man’s heart, and the tip veered toward the opposite shoulder instead.

Heat surged through Luke’s palms before he could consciously summon it.

Blue light raced along the splintered wood.

The jagged point punched through the hoodie and sank beneath the deliveryman’s right shoulder.

His mouth opened, but no sound emerged at first. A choked scream followed as the crowbar dropped from his hand and clattered across the tiles.

Luke ripped the weapon free and kicked the metal bar away. It spun beneath a nearby table, scraping loudly against the floor.

The deliveryman remained on one knee, pressing his left hand against the fresh wound beneath his right shoulder. Blood dripped from both sleeves, and neither arm appeared to be working properly.

Even then, hatred burned in his eyes beneath the hood.

"You little..."

He planted one foot and tried to stand.

Luke’s breath caught.

He had already stabbed the man twice, but the intruder was still trying to reach Lauren.

Luke adjusted his grip and swung the shaft across his jaw.

The impact snapped the man’s head sideways. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body collapsed heavily onto the café floor.

For several seconds, Luke stood over him with the weapon raised.

Harsh breaths tore from his lungs. His arms shook beneath the weight of the mop, although it had felt almost weightless moments earlier. Blood coated his fingers and ran into the lines of his palms. Most of it belonged to the deliveryman, though a splinter had also opened a shallow cut across Luke’s hand.

The café had gone painfully quiet.

Luke could hear the display case humming behind the counter and the damaged light fixture creaking above him.

The blue glow faded from the shaft, leaving only a broken, bloodied mop in his hands.

"Luke?"

Lauren’s voice pulled him back.

He slowly lowered the weapon and looked down.

The deliveryman’s chest still rose beneath the hoodie. Each breath came shallowly, but he was alive.

Luke released the breath trapped in his lungs. After kicking the crowbar farther away, he hurried behind the counter.

Lauren sat curled against the cabinets with her knees pulled close to her chest. Both hands covered the sides of her head, and a faint violet glow faded from her eyes as she tried to focus on him.

Luke stopped.

He had seen that same light beneath Yvonne’s blindfold, and Lauren had just warned him about an attack she could not possibly have seen. Her voice, her combat advice, her daughters, the beauty mark beside her lips... Everything finally came together.

Miss Lauren was Yvonne.

The realization struck with such certainty that Luke briefly forgot about the blood on his hands.

"Miss Lauren," he whispered.

She looked up, and the relief on her face almost hurt to see.

"Luke!"

He dropped the mop and knelt in front of her.

Lauren threw her arms around him with enough force to nearly knock him backward. She buried her face against his chest and clutched his shirt in both hands.

"Luke, that man... That man is..."

"It’s okay." Luke wrapped his arms around her. "He’s down. He can’t hurt you."

"He’s one of the deliverymen."

"I know."

"I saw him outside." Her words came between shallow breaths. "He was watching through the window. When I reached for my phone, he pulled up his hood and started hitting the door."

Luke held her tighter as sirens sounded somewhere beyond the broken entrance.

"They’re almost here."

Lauren shook her head against his chest.

"I knew he made me uncomfortable. I should have taken it more seriously. I should’ve called the police before he ever came back."

"You told him to stop."

"That wasn’t enough." Her fingers twisted in his shirt. "You could’ve been killed because he came here looking for me."

"No."

Luke pulled back enough to see her face. Tears gathered along her lashes, and her breathing remained too fast.

"You told him no, and you reported him when he wouldn’t stop. You did everything you were supposed to do."

"But he still came here."

"Because there’s something wrong with him, not because you did anything wrong."

Lauren looked toward the blood spreading across the café floor.

"You could’ve died."

"But I didn’t. I’m right here, Miss Lauren."

Luke placed one hand against the back of her head and gently drew her closer.

Her expression crumpled.

Lauren pressed herself against him again, and Luke felt her trembling begin to ease as he held her. He wanted to ask about the violet light and why she had hidden the truth from him. He wanted to hear her admit that she was Yvonne, the woman who had teased him, fought beside him, and nearly kissed him inside the game.

Those questions could wait.

Right now, Lauren needed him to hold her and remind her that they had both survived.

The first police officers entered through the ruined doorway with their weapons drawn.

"Police! Keep your hands where we can see them!"

Luke raised one hand without releasing Lauren with the other.

"The weapon’s on the floor!"

Two licensed heroes followed them into the café. One went straight to the unconscious deliveryman, while the second paused just beyond the broken entrance and surveyed the room.

He appeared to be in his late thirties, with sharp features, a thin scar crossing his right eyebrow, and black hair tied into a short knot behind his head. A fitted black combat layer covered him from neck to ankle, while a deep-crimson outer coat crossed over his chest and fastened beneath a broad black belt.

The lower half of the coat separated into several long panels that left his legs free to move. Reinforced bracers protected his forearms, and silver lines resembling flowing meridians ran along the hems and sleeves.

An embroidered white tiger rested over the left side of his chest.

Luke recognized the symbol of the Eastern District Hero Bureau before he recognized the man wearing it.