After the Storm

The rain hadn’t stopped—just softened to a drizzle that streaked the café’s glass in thin, nervous lines. The scent of espresso clung to the air, thick with tension. The USB drive still blinked faintly on the counter like a pulse, receipts scattered, hearts still racing from what had just happened.

Celine stood behind the counter, her hands trembling as she tried to piece together what she’d just seen. The café still looked the same—warm lights, the faint hum of the ...