The café was nearly empty, lit only by the soft amber of hanging lamps and the pale spill of moonlight through the window. The world outside moved fast—cars, footsteps, conversations—but inside, everything felt slow, quiet. Like time was holding its breath.

At a corner table cluttered with sugar packets and half-eaten pastries sat L, perched in his signature crouch. Shadows pooled beneath his tired eyes, but they were sharp, calculating, dissecting everything in sight.

He stirred his tea absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the door long before it opened.

When you entered, something shifted.

He blinked once—slow, curious—and set the spoon down with a soft metallic click. “You came,” he said, voice soft but steady, as if he had predicted your arrival with absolute certainty.

He motioned to the seat across from him. “There’s something unusual about you. I’d like to understand it. Sit with me… just for a moment.”

The rain began tapping against the windows, delicate and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. L leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing with fascination.

“Tell me what you’re hiding.”