The café was quiet, the kind that catered to businessmen who needed silence more than company. Mid-morning sunlight filtered through tall glass windows, painting everything in that too-perfect warmth that didn't quite reach the people sitting in it.

River arrived first. He always did. His shirt was crisp, sleeves neatly cuffed, hair slicked back, and tie perfectly straight — a flawless façade that hid the exhaustion underneath. The reflection on the screen stared back at him. The backlog of work from the past few weeks had aged him in ways sleep couldn't fix, and every day since the investigation began, it felt like treading on cracked glass.

He'd already finished half a cup of coffee when Shaun walked in — sharply dressed, a half-smile that looked more like habit than warmth. The same way his own lips curled upward, like a mirror. He spotted him immediately and raised a hand in greeting.

"River Vigilanco," Shaun announced as he approached, his voice smooth and slightly playful. "Still early to everything, no matter what, I see."

River's lips curved faintly. "Still late to everything, no matter what, I see."

Shaun laughed, sliding into the seat opposite. "Fair. It's been a while. I almost always forget how punctual you are."

River set his cup down, eyes steady. "And I always forget how much you enjoy the sound of your own voice."

"Still sharp," Shaun said, grinning. But his gaze flicked, just for a second, to River's tie — immaculate, precise, controlled—the same as always.

There was a brief silence before Shaun spoke again, his tone softening.

"We didn't speak since that day at your place," he said, leaning forward, fingers loosely interlaced. "I should've called sooner. I just didn't know what to say."

River nodded once. "Not much to say about death."

"That's one way to put it." Shaun sighed, feigning heaviness. "Still, he didn't deserve that. None of you did."

The sincerity sounded real. It looked real. Death has a way of granting forgiveness where life never could. River decided to trust in something like that.

"Yeah," River murmured, studying him. "No one did."

A pause stretched between them. The sound of a spoon clinking against porcelain filled the gap.

"How are the others holding up? Jane? Ina?" he asked. "Not that good, I guess," River replied calmly. Shaun shook his head in quiet understanding.

Then he leaned back, casual again. "I also heard you've been... busy lately. The investigation," he drawled on.

"Word travels fast," River replied dryly.

"You know I have my ways, want it or not, I hear things," Shaun said, waving a hand. "Especially when your name starts coming up."

River didn't flinch. He only tilted his head slightly, like a man examining a chessboard. "Is that what people are saying?"

"That's what people always say, River. Someone dies, they point fingers at the ones still breathing."

River smirked faintly. "And what do you say?"

Shaun's eyes glinted. "I say you're too calm for someone being investigated."

"I don't see the point of panicking. They'll find whatever they want to find."

Shaun chuckled. "You make it sound like you've already rehearsed your defense."

River met his gaze evenly. "And you sound like you're testing mine."

Shaun's smile faltered — just barely. But it was enough.

Silence. Not awkward but measured. 

"River," he broke the silence after a pause, the smile returning. "You know I trust you to keep things straight." No reply, River just sipped his coffee.

After a brief silence, he looked up, setting the glass down. "You remember the meeting you set me up with?" 

"Mhm, yeah," Shaun said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "The reference I gave a while back? How did it go? Should've been a big deal for your firm."

River's voice stayed calm. "It was supposed to happen on that day."

Shaun paused for a second, then shrugged. "Ah, that's a shame. He is kind of a big deal to get hold of." He thought for a moment and added, "I can talk to him if you want." 

"No." River's tone was neutral. "Not now anyway."

Shaun smiled faintly as if he understood everything. "Things happen, don't fret."

River didn't respond. His eyes, however, had sharpened — quiet calculation flickering beneath composure. Anyone else would have seen a tragedy. But he saw a missed opportunity. But this was Shaun. And, River supposed, he wasn't much different.

Shaun checked his watch and stood. "Anyway. Just wanted to see how you were holding up. I figured the police breathing down your neck couldn't be pleasant."

"Appreciate the concern," River said, lips curled up.

"Of course," Shaun replied. Then, softer, "If you need anything at all, legal advice, connections, someone to vouch — call me. I know a lot of people than I would like to admit who owe me a favor and I have ways of keeping problems quiet," he winked.

River's lips curled up just slightly, and something in his eyes cooled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Shaun smiled one last time, warm, easy, and too perfect as he left.

River stayed where he was, gaze fixed on the door long after it closed behind him.

Then, quietly, he muttered under his breath, "He and I are alike in more ways than I'd care to admit." Letting out a long, exhausted sigh, he packed up his things and left right behind him.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁