The air smelled like rain.
Aira sat inside the car, hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the dimly lit café across the street. Midnight had passed, but the city refused to sleep. Neon lights flickered lazily, reflecting off wet asphalt like scattered shards of glass.
Neutral ground.
That was what Barra had promised.
But Aira knew better. There was no such thing as neutral anymore. Not when blood had already been spilled.
The door beside her opened.
Barra slid into the seat, his presence instantly filling the space. He did not look at her right away. Instead, he scanned the surroundings, eyes sharp, calculating.
“No visible threats,” he said calmly. “But that does not mean there are none.”
Aira nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
“You still want to do this?” he asked.
