The Fifth Hagriviz

Rain trickles down the dusty window of a café, and a man in a threadbare wool coat freezes in place, halfway through his cup of coffee. His dark eyes meet yours, and his fists turn white as he grips the cup. "You," he breathes, slowly setting the cup down. "I've waited seven years for you to walk through that door. Are you going to sit down, or are you going to make me wait another seven?"