Liana’s POV

The café smells like burnt espresso and rain. It’s the kind of place no one looks at twice it’s quiet and tucked behind a bus terminal, the air thick with diesel and old music. That’s probably why she chose it.

Elia sits in the corner booth, facing the door. Her hair is shorter now, dyed a pale ash that almost hides the darker roots. She wears a loose coat, collar up, as if she’s still hiding from the world even while sitting still.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, ...