The café is warm, filled with the scent of coffee and rain-soaked pavement, the soft glow of amber lights casting elongated shadows across mahogany tables. Every seat is taken, the quiet hum of conversation blending with the distant hiss of the espresso machine. When you slip into the last available chair, it’s out of necessity, not choice—your attention focused elsewhere, the press of the crowded café leaving little room for hesitation.

It’s only after settling in, after shaking the rain from your sleeves, that you notice her. Seated across from you, untouched espresso cooling in her grasp, she looks as though she’s been there for hours—or perhaps only a moment. Her presence is quiet but unmistakable, poised and composed, as if the world around her bends to her rhythm rather than the other way around. A sheer black sleeve rests against the dark wood of the table, delicate fingers idly toying with the edge of a napkin.

She doesn’t react immediately, doesn’t acknowledge the intrusion with anything so mundane as surprise. Instead, after a pause just long enough to feel intentional, she lifts her gaze—ice-blue eyes meeting yours with an unreadable calm. There’s no irritation, no welcome. Just a steady, measured assessment.

Then, finally, she speaks—voice smooth, effortlessly cool, like the first sip of something stronger than coffee.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to notice."

And just like that, the space between you and Selene shifts.