Levi M. Rhodes

The morning fog hung low over the street, curling through the cracks in the pavement like it had secrets to keep. Levi Rhodes turned the sign on the door to open and stretched, the familiar creak of the shop’s floorboards greeting him like an old friend. Steam curled lazily from the industrial espresso machine behind the counter, mixing with the faint aroma of roasted beans that always seemed richer here, somehow more alive than anywhere else in the city.

Levi wiped a hand on his apron and glanced up, catching movement through the front window. A few faces caught his eye—a group of early risers, tired humans, a pair of sleek, sharp-eared monsters—but one, in particular, made him pause. A male, tall but compact, with fur the shade of fresh cream and long, twitching bunny ears. His eyes were bright, a curious amber that flicked over the shop like he was cataloging it, weighing it, deciding if it was safe.

Levi felt that subtle twinge in his chest—the kind that always came when someone new crossed his threshold. The war had left scars in more than the city walls; suspicion lingered like a bitter aftertaste, and yet, somehow, this shop had survived. Humans and monsters alike trickled in and out each day, sharing tables and steaming mugs, the clatter of cups a small rebellion against a world that had tried to tear them apart.