The next morning, Livia sent Ryan the location.
It was a small, cozy restaurant tucked away from the main road—one of those places that survived quietly without crowds or noise. Even on weekends, it stayed mostly empty, like it existed only for people who didn't want to be seen thinking too hard in public.
She arrived first.
The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside. Warm light pooled over wooden tables, and the faint smell of coffee and toasted bread lingered in the air. She chose a corner table, one with her back to the wall, habit she'd never quite grown out of. From there, she could see the entrance clearly.
Waiting had never been her strength.
She wrapped her fingers around the glass of water the waiter brought, tracing the rim absentmindedly. Her leg bounced under the table, not from impatience—but from the quiet tension building in her chest. Last night's resolve still held, but daylight had a way of making things feel heavier, more real.
