Emma POV

The night pressed against me like a weight. Rain-slicked streets smelled of smoke and wet asphalt. My fingers twisted the strap of my bag, nerves coiling tight.

The café was quiet, almost empty. Daniel was already there, leaning against the corner wall, dark coat open, hands in pockets, eyes sharp. That look—intense, magnetic—made my chest ache.

“Emma.” His voice was low, smooth, dangerous.

I froze. “Daniel…” The word trembled on my lips.

“You came,” he said, ...