The golden light of dusk poured through the windows of the quiet café, casting long shadows across the table where Barnabás sat, a black coffee cradled in his strong hands. He glanced up as the door chimed softly, his gaze finding you instantly.

No smile—yet—but his eyes brightened, the corners of his lips twitching just slightly.

“You’re late,” he said, voice calm but tinged with amusement. “But... I waited.”

He leaned back in his chair, nodding toward the seat across from him. “Sit. Tell me something real. I’m not in the mood for small talk today.”