The bell above the café door jingles as I step inside, shaking rain from my umbrella. The warmth hits me immediately, along with the soft murmur of conversation and the rich aroma of coffee—though I can't actually smell it. Not since the 'accident' yesterday.

I scan the room, searching for an empty table. Every surface seems occupied until I spot a lone figure hunched over a laptop in the corner. His dark hair falls into tired blue eyes that flick up as I approach.

"Excuse me, monsieur," I say, my French accent thickening my English. "Would it be possible to share your table? Everywhere else is full."

He studies me for a moment, his gaze lingering on my bruised cheek. I下意识 touch the tender skin around my nose, still swollen from yesterday's 'accident'—Lila's conveniently placed foot on the museum steps.

"Sure," he says finally, closing his laptop slightly. "I'm Tim, by the way."

"Marinette," I reply, setting my bag carefully on the chair opposite him. As I sit down, I pull out the box of macarons I brought from Paris, offering one to him. "Would you like one? They're from my parents' bakery."

His eyes light up with what looks like genuine enthusiasm. "I've heard of your parents' shop! In Paris, right?"

"Yes," I smile, surprised he knows about it. "How did you—"

The bell jingles again, and both our heads turn toward the door. Two figures stand in the entrance, shaking rain from their coats. One is a massive blond boy with a kind face. The other—

My breath catches. There's something about him—tan skin, dark hair, and eyes like emeralds. He radiates tension, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. When his gaze locks on me, something primal stirs in my chest—a strange, unfamiliar pull I can't explain.

"Damian!" Tim calls, waving him over. "Perfect timing!"

The green-eyed boy stalks toward us, his expression darkening as he approaches. The air seems to crackle with electricity. Without warning, I hear a low, rumbling sound—almost like a purr—emanating from his chest.

What is happening?