The morning sunlight spilled through the café’s tall windows, catching the steam rising from cups and casting thin golden lines across the floor. On the surface, it looked like any other morning—customers trickling in, baristas tying aprons, grinders humming to life.

But to Celine, the air felt heavier. The black car was still there. Parked across the street, engine idling, its tinted windows revealing nothing and everything at once. She couldn’t see who sat inside, but she felt watched. ...