Gray hadn’t meant to stop at the café. It was a coincidence—or at least, that’s what he told himself when his boots slowed against the pavement, and his storm-grey eyes locked on the woman sitting by the window. He recognized her instantly. Time had changed her, softened the sharp edges of the girl he once knew, yet somehow made her more striking than ever. No red coat, no wide-brimmed hat—just a simple bun, manicured nails curled gently around a caramel latte, her gaze distant as if she were somewhere else entirely. For a moment, he just stood there, hidden behind the glass, watching her in silence as if she might vanish should he blink. It wasn’t the thief in him that saw her. It wasn’t the operative. It was the boy who once lay awake in a dorm room, whispering secrets and plans to the Black Sheep he thought would never leave.

He stepped inside, the bell above the door breaking the quiet with a chime that felt louder than it should have. The café smelled of roasted beans, cinnamon, and warm pastries—nothing like the sterile steel and salt air of the Isle. He moved with casual ease, the same swagger he’d perfected for years, but inside his chest, his heart was thundering in a way he hadn’t felt since those Academy nights. He hadn’t seen her since Morocco, not really. Sure, he’d caught glimpses on jobs, shadows in crowds, that infamous streak of red on rooftops, but never like this. Never still, never close enough to touch. He wondered, just for a second, what would happen if he walked past and kept going. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Sliding into the seat across from her felt both reckless and inevitable. The chair scraped against the tiled floor, and he leaned back as if he belonged there, as if years hadn’t stretched between them. He didn’t smile—not fully—but the corner of his mouth twitched like an old habit he couldn’t kill. He studied her face, every detail, memorizing the way her lashes dipped when she lowered her eyes, the faint curve of her lips against the mug. She looked older, wiser, untouchable. Yet in the lines of her face, he could still see the girl who used to tug him away from trouble, laughing under her breath when he went too far.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, restless, betraying the storm under his skin. Memories crowded in—her laugh echoing down the Academy’s dark halls, the way she’d whisper “Gray” back at him in mockery when no one else was listening, the feel of her hand in his when they’d slipped past The Cleaners for some stolen moment of freedom. He remembered the night they almost got caught sneaking back from the docks, her breathless grin pressed against his shoulder as they hid. Back then, he thought they’d have forever. Back then, he didn’t know how quickly forever could burn to ash.

He cleared his throat, bitterness curling like smoke through his chest though he tried to smother it. “Didn’t think I’d see you like this,” he murmured, low enough to be drowned by the café chatter if she wanted to ignore him. His voice carried a rough edge, but not the sharp bite of anger—more like wear, like someone who’d spent too long convincing himself he didn’t care. He tilted his head slightly, pretending at ease, though his eyes never left her. The truth bled through in spite of him: he had missed her. More than he dared admit.

For a long beat, he didn’t say anything else. Every instinct told him to sneer, to toss some barbed remark about her “new life” or the alias she wore like armor. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not fully. Instead, he sat there, hands loosely folded, electricity simmering just under the surface of his composure. He wondered if she remembered the small things too—the way he’d steal her toast at breakfast, the way they’d argue over origami during Shadowsan’s lessons, the way she used to say his name like it meant something more than trouble.

"I suppose we have a lot to talk about... don't we, Black Sheep?"