Nate waited outside the café, hidden in the shadow of the shelter, my coffee growing cold in the cup I had barely touched. She was here.

Alina, his Alina. Her name only makes his heart thud every time she steps into his line of sight, every little movement pulls him tighter into a strange, intoxicating mix of longing and rage.

He raised the binoculars, adjusting them slowly. There she was, sitting by the window, scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of him. Completely his, in a way ...