Shoreditch, London
January 24, 2025 — 15:00
Eva pushed open the door of the café and immediately spotted the woman seated by the window.
Short golden hair. Blue eyes. A simple white cashmere sweater. In her hands she held a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, and in her gaze was something Eva knew far too well.
That thing was called drowning.
“Rose?” Eva approached her.
The woman looked up, momentarily startled. In that brief hesitation there was appraisal, recognition, and something harder to name—something like quiet relief.
“Eva.” She rose and extended her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Her hand was cold. The chill of a London winter evening seemed to linger in her palm.
“Sit,” Eva said, slipping off her coat as she took the seat across from her.
The café was
