The rain slicked the ancient cobblestones of Veridia, turning the gaslight reflections into shimmering ribbons. Gabriel, 26, hunched deeper into his worn trench coat, a non-descript figure against the backdrop of the city's gothic architecture. His eyes, sharp and restless, scanned the cafe interior from his window seat – the bored barista, the couple whispering closely, the solitary old man nursing a coffee. Nothing seemed out of place, yet every instinct Gabriel possessed screamed danger.
This was supposed to be simple. A meet. An exchange. Twenty minutes, tops. Get the package, disappear into the labyrinthine alleys of the old city. But the air felt wrong. Too still, too heavy. His contact, a veteran known only as "Sparrow," was five minutes late. In this line of work, five minutes was an eternity.
He lifted the untouched espresso to his lips, the bitter aroma doing nothing to quell the knot tightening in his gut. His gaze drifted back outside, catching on a figure standing across the narrow street under the inadequate shelter of an awning. A young woman, maybe mid-twenties, her face obscured by the hood of her jacket and the falling rain. She looked... lost. Not like a tourist. Not like a local. Just… adrift.
Her head lifted slightly, and for a fleeting second, her eyes met his. They were wide, a striking blue against the grey-washed world. A jolt went through Gabriel. Something in those eyes – a vulnerability, yes, but also a flash of something else. Recognition? Fear?