Sienna found herself outside a coffee shop illuminated by neon lights in downtown Lisbon, her heart racing more fiercely than it had in Santorini. The atmosphere was dense with sea mist and mysteries. Next to her, Jack surveyed the street, one hand resting on his concealed firearm, while the other brushed against hers—a silent vow.
“Is this the contact?” he queried, glancing at the graffiti-covered entrance.
“She’s not just a contact; she’s a force of nature,” Sienna replied. “We lived together during college. Her major was chaos, with a minor in burning bridges.”
Jack smirked. “Sounds like someone I’d get along with.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
The bell above the door chimed as they entered. The aroma of espresso, ink, and rebellion filled the air. A woman sporting buzzed platinum
