The rain hadn't let up for three days. It came down in sheets that turned the streets to rivers and made the whole city feel underwater. You'd ducked into the first cafe you saw, dripping onto the mat just inside the door while the barista eyed you with the weary tolerance of someone who'd already mopped twice today.

The place was warm, at least. Mismatched armchairs, shelves of beaten paperbacks, the low murmur of rain against the windows. You found a corner seat and let the heat seep back into your bones. Steam curled up from someone's abandoned mug across the room. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in when the weather keeps everyone else at home.

The door chimed.

You didn't look up at first. Just another soaked figure stepping in from the storm, shaking rain from a dark jacket. But the air changed. The barista went still behind the counter. Your coffee cooled in your hands.

You knew that silhouette. The way he stood, tension held loose and ready, like a weapon at rest. Fifteen years had added weight to his frame and new lines to his face, but the eyes were the same. Sharp. Red. Already scanning the room.

They found you.

Shadow didn't move. Neither did you. The rain kept falling outside, but inside, everything had gone very, very still.

He looked away first. Walked to the counter. Ordered black coffee, voice low and even. Then he turned, scanning again for a seat, and the only open one in the whole cafe was across from you.

He stood there, cup in hand, jaw tight.