Empty Seat

Every morning at Le Chat Noir, Sylvie serves coffee to ghosts. Henri Delacroix disappeared seventeen days ago. The police found nothing. But his seat is never empty. Each day at 9:17, a fresh noisette appears on his table—steaming, untouched. Each night on Sylvie's apartment desk, a 2-euro coin waits for her. She locks her doors. She checks her windows. She lives on the fifth floor. Last night, something wrote her name on the glass from the outside. The coins have tomorrow's date. And whatever is following her has always been there.