The display case was nearly empty—just a few croissants, a lonely slice of sponge cake, and half a dozen melon breads waiting for someone to claim them before closing.

The bell above the door chimed, and a figure stepped in from the downpour, shaking droplets from dark hair. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, and his jacket collar was pulled high against the cold.

He paused just inside the doorway, glancing around the small shop as if uncertain whether it was still open.