The café she had selected sat on the quieter periphery of District 4, where the relentless commercial pulse of the city softened into something more human, a residential exhale.
It was exactly as she had promised: a space with no interest in performing for its patrons, no forced aesthetics, just the honest aroma of roasted beans and tables spaced with enough distance to allow for privacy.
She was already there when he arrived. It was becoming a pattern, a pre-arrival that served as a silent communication, a subtle admission that she had anticipated his presence.
She wore what Mike had begun to recognize as her 'at ease' register: a tailored coat, no jewelry that required conscious attention, and her hair pulled back in a way that suggested practicality over performance. She wasn't dressing to be seen; she was dressing to exist.
