The cat café hadn't changed in the few days since Salvar had last seen it, but the atmosphere inside had shifted completely.
Ren was exactly where Salvar expected him to be, hunched over one of the low laminate tables with a laptop open. It was a cheap, plastic piece of junk—the kind of budget model sold at big-box electronics stores to students or people desperate for a quick, untraceable machine. A heavy charcoal-grey cat was draped across the back of Ren's neck like a living scarf, its eyes half-closed in total contentment while its front paws kneaded rhythmically into the fabric of his shirt. Ren's fingers flew across the keyboard with the casual speed of an expert, but he looked up the moment the bell above the door gave a thin, rusty chime. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
