At two in the afternoon, I pushed open the door of the corner café.
Paris in winter still carried a damp chill. When the glass door closed behind me, the wind stayed out on the street. Inside, it was warm. Coffee and baked sugar scented the air; soft jazz drifted from a speaker in the corner.
They were already there.
Henry, Lisa, Kane, Charles—all four of them sat at the table by the window. The coffee on the table had gone cold, faint rings staining the cups where it had settled. No one had taken more than a sip.
Lisa’s hand clamped so tight around the handle that her knuckles had gone white. Henry’s back was ramrod straight, like he might collapse if he relaxed even a little. Kane kept glancing at the door over and over, dark circles smudged under his eyes. Charles sat on the end, fi
