I feel him before I see him.

It's in the way the temperature shifts, the way the quiet becomes something heavier, more deliberate. Footsteps, unhurried, crossing the cobblestones like they have all the time in the world and intend to use every second of it.

A shadow stretches across the stone beside me, long and lean, blocking the last of the amber light.

I look up.

He's standing there like he owns the space between us—dark hair tousled, school tie undone just enough to be irritating, that half-smile playing at his lips like he already knows how this conversation ends.