Not at the voice. Not at the smile.

Not even at the way the whole café seemed to go still, holding its breath like a badly written drama.

Liana stepped forward, slow and measured. Her boots echoed against the tiled floor. Her silence was sharper than any scream.

The boy—Evan—tilted his head, still smug, still that same hollow charm.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. “Heard you disappeared after… you know.”

She stopped in front of him. Close enough to break him if she wanted to.

“I didn’t disappear,” Liana said, voice low, steady. “I just stopped letting people like you think I owed them my pieces.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. Just for a moment.

“You still talk like a storm,” he muttered.

“And you still talk like you never learned how to listen.”

The café was silent. Even the espresso machine dared not interrupt her.

Liana leaned in slightly, voice cold enough to frost glass.

“You don’t get to walk into my town, into my space, and act like your memory wasn’t a knife I had to pull out myself.”

Kael, near the door, hadn’t moved. But his hands were no longer fists. His expression had shifted—from protective tension to quiet awe.

Evan tried to laugh, weak and unsure.

She didn’t even blink.

“You can stay for your coffee,” she said, turning away. “But don’t think for a second you’re part of the story anymore.”

And just like that, she walked past him.

Past everyone.

Straight into the sunlight.