Lea had chosen the place this time. A café farther from campus, known less for its coffee and more for its bread—the kind that was crusty and warm, baked fresh through the day, the kind that could carry an entire meal on its own. She had told Baron about it in passing, and he had only nodded, as he always did, before agreeing to meet her there.
When they settled at a small corner table, the air smelled of butter and flour and the faint sweetness of cinnamon. Lea couldn’t help but notice something strange in the quiet between them. Not the usual calm silence Baron carried with him, but something different—something she wasn’t sure was real, or simply her imagination trying to trick her.
She found herself stealing glances at him, looking for signs: a shift in his expression, a pause in his
