The soft clink of porcelain and muted conversations filled the elegant café on Valon's main street. A faint aroma of roasted beans and honeyed bread floated through the air, blending with the warmth of late-morning sun filtering through tall crystal windows. Outside, the city stirred—merchants, students, and carriages moving across cobblestones in a dance of mundane purpose.
Noel sat near the window, dressed in a dark winter coat with silver trim, the collar raised just enough to brush his jawline. A half-finished cup of tea sat in front of him, untouched for the last ten minutes.
His eyes tracked the passersby, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
'The message said at noon. The courier dropped it off yesterday—this place, at this exact hour. Of course, little Noel's opinion doesn't matter.'
He glanced at the pocket watch on the table. Noel arrived early, as always.
