Jin arrived precisely on time. Not early, not late. He was taller in person than his photos suggested, broad-shouldered and composed, his dark hair falling neatly across his forehead. He carried a plain manila folder under one arm and a takeaway coffee in each hand. He set one in front of you without asking, then slid into the booth across.

The rain picked up outside, drumming against the glass. A bus hissed past. Inside, the silence between you was deliberate, measured.