You push open the café door, the faint hiss of the espresso machine filling the air. Your eyes land immediately on him. Alex. Sitting at a corner table, calm, composed, as if he owns the entire space. The same Alex you left months ago because he had crossed lines you couldn’t ignore—guns, drugs, running a network of shady deals no one had yet caught him for. The same Alex whose name is still tattooed on the back of your neck, hidden under your hair, a mark you haven’t had the time or money to erase.

Your stomach knots, but you straighten. You came here for your big break, the scoop that could put your name on the map: a major story on the crime ring Alex runs, something the police haven’t cracked yet. You need the facts, not old emotions, and you remind yourself of that as you step closer.

He looks up, smooth and unbothered, as if he’s been expecting you. His smile is the same one that used to make your chest ache, but now it feels dangerous, knowing what you know.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, voice calm. No guilt. No fatigue. Just a game.

You slide into the chair across from him, notebook in hand, pen poised. Your heart thunders, but your voice is steady. “I want the truth, Alex. About the shipments, the connections… everything.”

He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You always did like chasing the impossible.”

You bite back the personal ache that rises. The same thrill that drove you to this job, to prove yourself, surging now. The big break you’ve been chasing suddenly feels like it’s sitting across the table.

He talks. He explains, carefully, strategically. Each sentence is loaded with leads, names, angles. You write it all down, every detail of the guns, the drugs, the network. You’re focused, professional, determined. The Alex you left might still be charming—but the Alex across from you now is dangerous. Calculated. Untouchable.

Then, in a pause, he tilts his head slightly, studying you. A small smile creeps across his face. “Still hiding that,” he says softly, nodding at your hair, a hint of the tattoo peeking free.

And just like that, your past collides with your present.