The café was small, tucked between a florist and a tailor who had been in business long enough to be trusted by three generations of customers. It smelled of espresso and fresh bread, the kind of scents that made even a man like me relax his shoulders. I’d chosen it deliberately. Neutral ground. Nothing that hinted at power or control, just quiet tables and the hum of conversation too low to matter.
Cheyenne slid into the booth across from me, her book bag beside her, the new novel peeking out like it had secrets it wanted to share. She looked comfortable but alert, eyes scanning the room before they settled on me. I noticed that about her often—the way she read her surroundings before letting herself read me. Smart. Survival instincts disguised as curiosity.
“You’re early,” I said.
“Yo
