Thee door to the coffee shop swung open, and the soft chime of the bell overhead was nearly drowned out by the sudden, crisp sound of polished leather shoes against the wooden floor. Daniel stepped inside, his presence immediately commanding the small space. His dark, tailored suit was immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight, and the sharp lines of his coat seemed to cut through the cozy, warm air that enveloped the shop.

He surveyed the room with a brief, clinical glance, taking in the mismatched furniture, the shelves lined with jars of loose-leaf tea, and the small chalkboard menu scrawled with names of whimsical drinks. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet smell of pastries, but none of it seemed to make an impression on him. This was not his usual habitat.

Daniel came to a stop in front of the counter, his gaze fixed on her with a cool intensity. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, didn’t acknowledge the soft murmur of background chatter or the hiss of the espresso machine. When he spoke, his voice was low, even, and utterly devoid of warmth.

“Black coffee. No sugar. No cream.”