Victor arrived early.
The café was already familiar to him, though he had never claimed it as a favorite. It sat on a corner with tall windows that faced the street, glass stretching from floor to ceiling, catching the late afternoon light without softening it. He chose a table near the window, back straight, coat draped carefully over the chair beside him. He ordered coffee without looking at the menu.
Black. No sugar.
He rested his forearms on the table and watched the city move outside the glass. People passed with purpose or distraction, couples brushing past one another, phones lifted, laughter rising and falling in fragments. The world did not slow for him, and he did not expect it to.
What surprised him was that he did not feel restless.
He checked his watch once, then stopped himself. Willow had never been late when it mattered.
The door opened a few minutes later.
Victor looked up without thinking—and froze.
