The rain had stopped just before sunset, leaving the streets with that soft, reflective sheen that makes the city feel as though it has been polished. I could smell damp stone in the air as I made my way to the little French place Lena had chosen. She had sent me a short message earlier in the day, asking if I could meet her for dinner. There was no hint of urgency in her words, but something about the way she had phrased it—no extra sentences, no playful remarks—made me think it was more ...