The next day, the sky was a soft gray, the kind that made the whole city look quieter than it really was.
Classes dragged for Amara.
Her lecturer's voice turned into background noise as her mind kept bouncing between her father's interview, the article, and the message waiting on her phone.
By the time the lecture finally ended, most students rushed out, talking about assignments, gossip, and weekend plans.
Amara walked a bit more slowly.
Her ankle didn't hurt anymore, but the memory of that near-accident hadn't completely left her body. Every time a car passed too close, she still flinched inside.
Outside the campus gate, life moved as usual. Vendors calling. People crossing. Cars honking. No one could see the storm sitting in her chest.
She checked her phone.
No new messages, but she didn't need one.
They had already chosen a time.
She turned left and headed to the café.
The little bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside.
Warm air wrapped around her. Coffee and sugar smells mixed together. Same soft music. Same small world away from the loud one.
And there he was.
Daniel sat at a table near the window this time, a cup already in front of him. No book today. Just his phone on the table and his back to the wall, as if he liked to see everything and everyone.
He noticed her the moment she came in. His gaze snapped to the door before the bell even finished ringing.
He stood.
"You're early," he said.
"You're already here," she replied. "So I'd say we're the same."
He motioned to the counter.
"I already ordered your usual," he said. "Stronger version."
She raised a brow.
"Are you stalking my caffeine preferences now?" she asked.
"I prefer the term 'observant,'" he replied.
She fought a smile and failed.
"Thank you," she said, and went to pick up the drink. When she came back, she sat opposite him.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
She seemed different today.
Not in clothes or makeup, but in the way she sat. Quieter. Heavier.
"You watched the interview," she said.
He nodded.
"I did."
"What did it look like from the outside?" she asked. "Be honest. Not as… someone who knows me. As just a viewer."
He took a breath.
"Your father looked… honest," Daniel said slowly. "Not perfect. Not clean. But… honest about not being clean."
She stared at him over the rim of her cup.
"That's a very careful answer," she said.
"I work in security," he reminded her. "We're trained to talk like that."
"And what do you personally think?" she pushed.
He held her gaze.
"I think," he said, "your father is a man who has made compromises in a dirty system and now has to pay for them in front of people who don't know half of what he's seen."
Her throat tightened.
"You sound like you've seen a lot too," she said.
He smiled faintly.
"I've seen enough to know no one who rises high does it with perfectly clean shoes," he replied. "Some walk through water. Some through mud. Some through blood."
She went quiet at that.
He changed the subject.
"How are things at home?" he asked.
She let out a small, tired laugh.
"You mean after the article, the interview, and the conspiracy board my uncle has probably drawn in his room?" she said. "Loud. Stressful. And silently breaking."
"Breaking how?" he asked.
"My dad is pretending he's fine," she said. "My mom is pretending she believes him completely. My uncle is pretending he isn't scared. And I'm pretending I'm not reading every little thing on the internet."
"Are you?" he asked.
She looked away.
"Yes," she said. "I hate it, but I am."
He studied her face. The way her eyes carried shadows of sleepless nights.
"Do you… still believe in him?" Daniel asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
"I believe," she said finally, "that he's done things I don't fully approve of. I also believe he has done more good than harm. I'm just… trying to figure out if that balance is enough to keep supporting him."
He listened silently.
She looked back at him and forced a lighter smile.
"So," she said, "are we going to spend the entire time talking about politics, or will you give me a break like you promised yesterday?"
"I did promise," he said. "And I'm a man of my word."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"New rule," he said. "For the next twenty minutes, no mention of 'senator,' 'election,' 'article,' or 'contract.' We talk about you. Or we talk about me. Or we insult each other's music taste."
"You can't insult what you don't know," she pointed out.
"That's what I'm trying to correct," he replied.
A real smile tugged at her lips now.
"Fine," she said. "Ask."
"Favorite song?" he shot back immediately.
She frowned.
"That's rude," she said. "That question is harder than politics."
"Okay, fine," he adjusted. "Favorite type of music when you're sad?"
"Soft," she said. "Slow. Something that makes it worse first, then better later."
"You're one of those people," he said. "The ones who listen to sad songs when they're sad."
"What do you do?" she countered. "Punch walls?"
"If the walls deserve it," he said.
She laughed quietly.
"What about you?" she asked. "Favorite music when you're angry?"
"Silence," he replied. "Noise makes it worse. Silence gives me time to figure out who to blame."
"That is both dramatic and scary," she said.
"I've been called worse," he said.
They fell into a rhythm again. Small questions. Soft jokes. Details.
She told him about her childhood dance classes.
He told her about "moving a lot as a kid" (he skipped the part where some of those moves were from safe house to safe house).
She talked about wanting to travel after school.
He talked about never really belonging anywhere.
At some point, she caught him watching the door, then the window, then the other people in the café.
"Do you ever relax?" she asked.
"This is me relaxed," he said.
"Then I fear you tense," she replied.
He didn't say it, but he was more alert today for a reason.
Because earlier that morning, before he came here, he'd had another conversation.
Not in a café.
In a car.
Parked in an empty lot, with the city far enough to look like a painting.
Mara had been in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a file.
"You're getting close to her," she said.
"I need to be close to her," Daniel replied. "That's the job."
"There's close," Mara said lightly, "and then there's breathing in sync. You two are heading for the second."
He stared out the windshield.
"You've been watching," he said.
"That's my job," she reminded him.
She tossed the file onto his lap.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Pressure," she said. "From up there."
He opened the file.
More documents. Deeper ones. Not just old contracts. There were hints of something else. A cover-up. A deal that involved the senator's brother and a man who had since disappeared.
"Where did this come from?" he asked.
"Kane," she said. "Or someone he owns. Doesn't matter. What matters is that Clark wants to move faster now."
Daniel's jaw clenched.
"We're still checking if these are even fully real," he said. "This could be twisted or incomplete."
"Maybe," she said. "But Clark doesn't care. He wants enough to build a bigger leak. He wants the next wave to hit harder than the first."
He flipped through the papers.
"If we drop this," he said, "it could kill the senator's reputation for good."
"And that's exactly what the client is paying for," Mara said.
He stayed silent.
She watched him.
"That's not your only problem," she continued. "There are whispers that Clark is starting to question your attachment level. You know what that means."
His fingers curled around the edge of the file.
"I know," he said.
"Then don't give him a reason to treat you like a traitor," she warned. "Play your part. Get what we need. Don't make me stand on the other side of a gun from you one day."
Now, in the café, Amara tapped her cup lightly.
"You're somewhere else," she said suddenly.
He blinked.
"What?"
"You went away," she said. "Your eyes. For a second you weren't here."
He forced his shoulders to relax.
"Just thinking about work," he said. "My boss is… demanding."
"Mine too," she said. "Except my boss is my father, and my job is 'don't do anything that can lead to scandal.'"
He gave a small smile.
"How's that going?" he asked.
"Terribly," she replied. "Even sitting here with you would probably count as suspicious to someone."
"Are you worried about that?" he asked.
She thought for a moment.
"Right now?" she said. "No. Right now, I just want to finish my drink without thinking about who's watching."
He nodded.
"Then that's what we'll do," he said. "Just drink."
They fell into an easier silence. Not heavy. Just quiet.
Outside the window, people passed. Cars moved. Life went on.
Inside, Amara found herself studying the way his fingers held the cup. The small scar near his wrist. The way his jaw tightened sometimes when she mentioned fear or danger.
He didn't feel like a stranger anymore.
That should have scared her.
It didn't.
Not yet.
When they finally stepped outside, the sky was darker. Evening had started to lay its hand over the city.
"I'll walk you to the main road," Daniel said.
She didn't argue this time.
They walked side by side, the streetlights flickering on above them.
"Do you ever regret your job?" she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you talk like someone who has seen ugly things," she said. "Do they ever stick to you?"
He looked ahead.
"Yes," he said simply. "Some of them never come off."
"Then why stay?" she questioned.
Because leaving gets you killed.
He couldn't say that.
"Because it's what I'm good at," he said. "And sometimes, in all the ugliness, I manage to do something that helps someone."
She nodded slowly.
"I don't know what I'm good at yet," she said. "I only know what I don't want to be."
"What's that?" he asked.
"A liar," she answered quietly.
The word cut deeper than she knew.
He swallowed.
"You'll figure it out," he said. "You seem like the kind of person who will."
They reached the main road.
She stopped and turned to him.
"Thank you," she said again. "For the distraction. For not treating me like I'm just a headline's daughter."
"You're welcome," he said. "You're more than a headline anyway."
She gave him one last look, then headed toward a waiting ride.
He watched until she got inside and the car pulled away.
Only then did he take out his phone.
A new message was waiting from Mara.
"Progress report?"
He typed back.
"She trusts me more now."
After a moment, another message appeared.
"Good. Clark wants something big soon. Don't forget why you're there, Daniel."
He stared at the words.
Then he put the phone away without replying.
On the surface, everything was moving according to plan.
Underneath, something else was growing.
Something that would soon become dangerous enough to turn everyone into a target.