He chose the quiet corner table like he'd been doing reconnaissance beforehand, back to the wall, two chairs angled so he could see the entrance. The café smelled of espresso and lemon oil. Outside, the city moved with its habitual indifferent speed, inside, the world narrowed to the distance between us.
Daniel stood when I walked in. He had the same composed calm I remembered from the last time, clean lines in his coat, a calm that read like habit rather than affectation. He gave that small, easy smile that had once belonged to a boy in a park instead of the composed man from every boardroom photo.
"Valerie," he said, and the name slipped out like something delighted. Warmth thrummed in his voice. "You made it."
My throat tightened in an automatic reflex. The group briefing had felt clinical, strategic. This felt hard….
"Hi," I managed, sliding into the chair opposite him. My fingers curled around my cup because my hands wouldn't stop pretending to be cold.
