The first thing Jace noticed was the heels.
Not the sound—they barely made any. No click, no warning. Just the presence. Smooth and deliberate, like silk whispering over tile. The kind of walk that didn't chase attention… it owned it.
He looked up from his coffee.
She was standing by the café entrance, one hand on her hip, scanning the room like she already knew what she wanted. No hesitation. Just confidence, sharp and polished.
Red dress. Deep cut. Long legs. Hair like midnight. Eyes like… no, not brown. Not black. Something in between. Smoky. Sharp.
Then her gaze locked on him.
And she smiled like they'd already slept together.
Jace blinked, halfway through a sip. Something hot stirred in his chest. Not lust—at least not just lust. It was that same pressure from before. The pull.
Desire.
She walked straight to him.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, already pulling the chair out.
Jace raised a brow. "Would it matter if I did?"
Her smile deepened. "Not even a little."
She sat across from him, crossed her legs, and rested her hands on the table like they were old friends catching up. But there was nothing casual about her. Every movement was deliberate, every glance a silent challenge.
"I'm Jace," he said slowly.
"I know."
He froze.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You're newer than you think you are, but you're already making waves."
"Right," he said. "And you are…?"
"Carmen."
The name didn't ring a bell. But the way she said it, like it was supposed to carry weight, made him sit up a little straighter.
"And how do you know who I am?"
Carmen leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Let's just say I have an eye for… emerging talent."
"You a recruiter or something?"
She laughed, low and smooth. "Something like that."
He didn't like the way she looked at him. Not because it was aggressive—if anything, it was too calm. Too controlled. Like she already knew where the conversation would end.
"So," he said, tone dry, "did you track me down just to flirt, or is there a sales pitch coming?"
She ignored the sarcasm. "You've awakened, Jace. That mark on your chest? It's not random. It's a gate. And once it's open, you stop being invisible to people like me."
He swallowed, fingers tightening around his coffee cup. "People like you?"
"Cultivators," she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Pathwalkers. Spirit-bonded. There are different names depending on who you talk to. But we all feel it—the hum, the burn. The hunger."
That word hit something deep in his spine.
Hunger.
"You're saying there are others like me?" he asked.
Carmen nodded. "Plenty. Most hide it. Some don't even realize what they are until it kills them. But you?" Her eyes scanned him slowly. "You're different. Your core isn't just active—it's feeding. Which means your potential isn't theoretical. It's real."
Jace leaned back. "You're not answering the real question."
Carmen arched a brow.
"Why are you here?"
She smiled again, slower this time. "Because I'm curious. You popped up like a flare in the dark. Strong, untrained, and already drawing attention. That kind of energy? It's messy. And messy gets eaten."
The way she said it made his skin prickle.
"So this is a warning?"
"No," she said softly. "This is me giving you an option."
"Which is?"
"Let me help you. I can teach you to use it. Control it. Channel it." Her fingers tapped the table once. "Or you can keep stumbling around and let the city chew you up."
There it was. The danger.
Not in her tone. Not in her smile.
But in the way she didn't push. Carmen was the kind of woman who could slip a knife between your ribs while making you believe it was your idea to get stabbed.
Jace stared at her. "What's in it for you?"
Her smile curved. "You think a woman like me doesn't have needs?"
His pulse jumped.
She leaned in, her voice dropping. "I don't want your soul, Jace. I just want a taste of your fire. You've got something raw inside you. Wild. Most guys burn out trying to control it. But you? I think you'll burn brighter."
The way she said it—it wasn't just about power. There was hunger in her voice too.
Not fake. Not theatrical.
Real.
"What kind of taste are we talking about?" he asked carefully.
She reached across the table, slow, deliberate, and laid her fingers over his hand.
And boom—there it was again.
That spark.
But this time, it wasn't just heat. It was motion. Like something inside him shifted in her direction—drawn, pulsing. Carmen's lips parted slightly, her eyes flashing.
"Ah," she breathed. "You feel that?"
He did.
It wasn't like Lena. Lena had been fire and chaos. Human. Real.
But Carmen? Carmen was power. Controlled. Coiled. Dangerous.
And she was feeding off the energy just like he was.
"You're not just curious," he said.
"No," she agreed. "I'm starving."
Then she stood up like nothing had happened, smoothing the red dress over her hips.
"Think about it," she said, brushing her fingers along his jaw as she passed. "But don't take too long. You're not the only one who felt you flare up last night. And not everyone will ask before taking."
She walked out of the café, hips swaying, heels silent.
Jace didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Because for the first time since this whole mess started, he realized something:
This world he'd stepped into wasn't just about awakening some hidden power or leveling up like a game.
It was about survival.
And the predators?
They wore heels, smiled like sin, and knew your name before you even met them.