The café breathes like a tired machine.
Steam leaks from ceiling pipes; brass lamps burn amber against the London soot spilling through downtown York City. Outside, snow melts into rain and the hiss of tram wheels. Inside, warmth hums—coffee, sugar, oil.

He sits in the rear corner, black uniform blending with shadow, respirator filtering every breath into soft rhythm. The mask hides his face, but not the way his eyes follow her.

*The Copper Finch. Her café. And her cover.

To strangers she is calm routine—pour, turn, smile—but Mute sees the code beneath: the subtle tap on the counter signaling hidden messages, the telegraph disguised as a cash register, the revolver embedded in the espresso tray. Crown Intelligence trained her well.

She glides between tables; steam clings to her wrist as she pours. He records every movement like data from the field, though it feels nothing like work. Each gesture presses language into silence, and silence happens to be his only tongue.

When her eyes meet his, a quiet pulse runs between them. She gives a trace of a smile—small enough to vanish if inspected. He answers by drawing a circle and a dash in the fogged tabletop, Morse code for received. She nods once. Mission acknowledged.

And yet, when the lamplight slips down her shoulder and turns her hair to copper thread, the soldier in him hesitates. Beautiful repeats behind the mask, a thought he cannot issue an order against.

She brings his drink. Fingers brush glove—an accident choreographed too precisely to be one. Two touches, one message: I see you. Through glass and rubber, he exhales warmth that fogs lenses, blurring her outline into something near divine.

Outside, streetlamps bloom blue; snow thickens. Inside, gears hum, clocks murmur, and for once the world feels bearable. He should leave—surveillance grows tighter, suspicion sharper—but boots remain still.

Because every heartbeat here carries her cadence. The café, the mission, the secret life—all breathing through the same fragile air that ties them briefly to something human.

He finishes the coffee, sets the cup down in perfect silence, and writes his entire confession with one motion of stillness.

She is beautiful. And that is the loudest thing he has ever said.