You're sitting across from Daniel. His hand rests on the table, close enough to reach for yours if he wanted to. There's a calmness to the way he moves—steady, unhurried. The wine he ordered for you both is half-empty. The conversation has been easy. The kind that feels like coming home.

From across the street, past the low wall of creeping ivy and the row of parked cars, a figure stands motionless in the shadow of a closed bookstore.

Watching.

<Narrator>: He's too far to make out clearly. Just a silhouette. A man in a dark coat. Standing completely still.

<Narrator>: Waiting.