Ryan's gaze lingered on the woman, cool and deliberate. He didn't bother to hide the suspicion in his eyes. "Do you? Then you're already braver than half the room. Most can't even hear the name without choking on their drink."
That drew the smallest curve of her lips. She slid into the chair opposite him without invitation. "Brave? No. I just know how to stay alive."
"Then talk," Ryan said, leaning back, arms folding across his chest. The casual posture didn't dull the danger in his stare.
Her smirk deepened. "That depends," she replied, "Information isn't free. Especially when it carries the weight of a death sentence if I sell it to the wrong buyer."
Ryan's tone stayed flat, almost bored. "Money isn't a problem. Time is."
"Good answer," she said lightly, tapping the table with a gloved finger. "Your demon doesn't sit in one place. He floats, like oil in water. Right now? I hear he's tied up in the western docks. Smuggling runs. He keeps his chain of hands there--traders, killers, debtors with no choice but to serve. If you're smart, you'll stay clear."
Ryan's eyes narrowed. "If I were smart, I wouldn't be here."
Her laugh was low, quick. "Fair point." Then her gaze flicked around the room, sharp as a blade. "But every second we talk, tongues wag. Matthias has ears in every gutter. By morning, your face could be described to him in perfect detail."
Ryan leaned forward now, voice dropping, cold enough to still the air between them. "Then make sure the detail he gets is that I'm coming."
Something sparked in her eyes--interest, or maybe calculation. She pushed her chair back, standing with the kind of fluid grace that marked her as dangerous in her own right. "South pier. Second warehouse past the cranes. Midnight. Don't be late, and don't bring anyone. If you do, I'll vanish. And you'll never find me again."
Ryan smirked faintly, the kind of look that carried warning more than charm. "If you try to run, I'll find you anyway."
Her smile matched his in sharpness. "I'd expect nothing less."
With that, she turned, cloak sweeping behind her as she slipped into the crowd. The bar swallowed her whole, leaving Ryan alone at the table, the weight of every lingering stare on his back.
---
The next morning, the café smelled of roasted beans and warm bread, a sweetness in the air that softened the edges of morning. Ryan stepped inside, the hum of voices and the scrape of cutlery dimming as his eyes adjusted. By the window, he found Thelma.
She was already waiting, as though she had been there for a while. A soft light streamed through the glass, gilding the curve of her cheek, catching the quiet elegance of her suit. When she looked up and saw him, her smile carried that same mix of poise and warmth he was beginning to recognise as uniquely hers.
"You're early," he said, sliding into the chair opposite her.
"I didn't want to keep you waiting." Her fingers brushed against the rim of her cup. "Besides, I like it here. It's quiet."
Ryan gave a faint nod, studying her in a way that made her shift slightly in her chair. There was an honesty in her presence he didn't find often, and it softened her more than she realised
"And how's your grandfather?"
Her eyes lit. "Better than I've seen him in years. He's already moving about the house like he's twenty years younger. Honestly, it's like he's testing the patience of the staff just to prove he's well again." She laughed softly, then sobered. "I owe that to you. We both do."
Ryan inclined his head. "It was necessary."
Thelma sighed, her eyes lowering to her untouched cup. "I should apologise again for my family. Their behaviour that night was…" She shook her head. "Unforgivable."
Ryan studied her in silence, then said, "They envy you."
Her eyes lifted, startled. "Envy?"
"Your grandfather trusts you. He favours you. That makes you dangerous to them."
Thelma's lips curved into a bitter smile. "If only it were that simple." She hesitated, fingers tightening around her cup before she spoke again, softer now. "My father wasn't grandpapa's' blood. He was adopted. He died when I was young, so all that's left is my mother and me. To them, I'm… an outsider. A reminder of something that doesn't quite belong in the family line."
For a moment, she looked away, steadying herself. Then she forced a small smile, as though dismissing her own words. "That's why I work twice as hard. If they won't see me as family, they'll have no choice but to see me as capable."
Ryan's gaze lingered on her, sharper now. That explained everything. The venom of the siblings. The dismissive tones. The way they spat her name like it was an insult. And yet here she was, holding her ground.
For a while, their conversation drifted to lighter things: the oddities of her work, the way she teased him about drinking his coffee too seriously, and his deadpan reply--"Perhaps the coffee deserves it." Her laughter rang, clear as glass, turning heads in the café.
It might have stayed light, had the door not burst open.
The bell above the frame gave a violent jangle as a man strode inside, two broad-shouldered bodyguards at his heels. He carried himself with the self-importance of someone who had never been denied anything, his eyes locking onto Thelma the moment he spotted her. The murmur of the café dimmed into uneasy silence.
He stormed up to their table, his voice a snarl. "So this is the riffraff you left me for?"
Thelma froze, then flushed, anger rushing across her face like fire. "Collins," she hissed, rising halfway from her chair. "How dare you come here? I told you to leave me alone!"
But Collins wasn't listening. His sneer spread as his gaze flicked dismissively over Ryan, then back to her. "You embarrass yourself. Parading around with him, like this is something real. Pathetic."
Ryan sat very still, his gaze locked on Collins with a calm so precise it cut deeper than anger. "Watch your tongue," he said quietly. "And speak properly to the lady."
Collins swung his glare back to Ryan. "Shut your mouth. This doesn't concern you."
Ryan's tone sharpened, though his voice never rose. "It does now."
The tension thickened, drawing the attention of every patron in the café. A hush spread. Forks paused mid-air, cups lowered without sound.
Collins, blind to the shift in air, reached across the table, seizing Thelma's wrist with a grip that made her wince.
It was a very grave mistake on his part.
Ryan moved with the reflexes of a cat. His hand closed around Collins' arm, twisted sharply, and the café erupted with a crack so loud it might have been a gunshot.
Collins screamed, collapsing to one knee, clutching at the broken limb, his face contorted with disbelief and pain.
Thelma stared, frozen, the echo of the sound reverberating in her chest. Ryan released the man without ceremony, his eyes cold as iron.
The café gasped, the silence shattered by the sound of Collins' agony. People turned in their seats, whispers rippling like fire through dry grass.
Thelma's breath caught, her heart racing.
And as Collins screamed again, the sound raw and unrestrained, the whole café leaned forward caught between fear and awe, waiting for what would happen next.