The air outside smelled different, not of espresso or scorched milk, but of fried dough, grilled meat, and sugar melting over ice. Marites had declared the team needed air, and somehow she managed to herd every barista out of the café like restless students set free after exams.

“Even soldiers rest before the next battle,” she said with a half-smile as they crossed the street, her voice carrying the weight that made Celine wonder if she knew more than she ever admitted.

The plaza stretched ...