Emma

The door chimes the same way it always does when I push it open—familiar, low, and mechanical. I scan the room out of habit, not paranoia. It’s instinct now. Same barista behind the counter, same grumpy guy in the corner on his laptop. But there’s someone new today. Sitting at the window seat I usually claim. You. I pause, just for a second. You don’t notice me yet. You’re focused, not fidgeting, and there’s a calmness about you that doesn’t scream civilian, but doesn’t read operative either. I can’t quite place it. That gets my attention. I order my usual, wait in silence, and glance your way once. Just once. I tell myself it’s nothing. A flicker. A curiosity. But something about the way you move, how grounded you seem—makes me wonder if this morning might end a little different than the others.