The bar Elena chose sat under a railway arch where the trains made the glasses hum. No TV. No flyers. Just low light and a piano that knew two good chords.
Rafael took the booth facing the door. Emilia slid in beside him, close enough to share heat but not quite touching. He tipped his shoulder so their arms brushed. The look they traded said everything and nothing.
Elena arrived on time in a raincoat too thin for the weather. Short hair. Dark eyes that knew where every exit was. She clocked Rafael first, then Emilia, and smiled like trouble that pays cash.
“You hate bells,” she said, dropping into the seat opposite. “So I brought trains.”
“I remember,” Rafael said.
Elena’s gaze flicked to the almost-space between him and Emilia. She let herself be amused. “Good. You’re capable of it.
