The café opened to its usual rhythm, but the air felt different—thicker somehow, heavy with the residue of unease. Celine moved mechanically behind the counter, arranging pastries, aligning mugs, calibrating the espresso machine. These were motions she could do with her eyes closed. Still, today each gesture carried a brittle edge, as if her hands remembered what her mind kept trying to dismiss: the reflection in the glass, the black car idling outside, the fourth figure with no face.

Liam ...