Later
The air smelled faintly of roasted beans and cinnamon, a scent that carried with it a sense of safety.
Yuna sat at the table by the window, her fingers curved loosely around a porcelain cup. Across from her, Ryu sat with his back straight, a thin folder resting beside his coffee. He looked perfectly at ease, but there was a quiet focus in his eyes, as though every sound in the garden was being filed away.
"Chicago," Yuna said softly, letting the word linger in the air. "Not exactly a place people visit without a reason."
Ryu's lips tilted into a mild, almost hesitant smile. "Work… and maybe fate."
She tilted her head, amused. "Fate? That's a dangerous word to use in front of me."
"Mm," he hummed lightly. "My grandmother used to tell me stories about this city — about the river that turns green, the bridges that remember every step you take across them, and a strange flower that only blooms after storms."
Yuna's brow lifted with interest. "You've seen one?"
"Not yet." His gaze held hers for a moment too long. "But I think I will."
The low hiss of the espresso machine cut through the air, and Yuna leaned back in her chair, tapping her nails softly against her cup. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Chicago has its own ways of surprising people."
They drank quietly for a while, the clink of cups and the muted city noise outside filling the spaces between their words.
After a while, she set her cup down and spoke with an offhand tone, "I'm going to step outside. There's a small café a few streets over — run by a lady I used to know. I… helped out there for a while before I went to Bailin."
"You worked there?" Ryu asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Not exactly there," she said, smiling faintly. "But it felt like a second home back then." She stood, wrapping her scarf around her neck. "I just want to see it again."
"I'll walk with you," he said without hesitation.
Her eyes narrowed playfully. "That's not necessary."
"Chicago's not the kind of city where it hurts to have company," he replied, already rising to his feet.
The streets outside were damp from a recent drizzle, carrying the scent of wet concrete and the faint perfume of rain-soaked flowers from a nearby florist. They walked in comfortable silence, the neon lights of shop signs flickering to life as daylight bled away into evening.
The cafe Yuna spoke of sat on the corner of a quieter block, its old brick façade softened by ivy and a faded green awning. Through the glass, the warm glow of hanging lights spilled onto the sidewalk, and the faint sound of a jazz tune drifted out when the door opened.
Yuna paused at the entrance, smiling faintly. "She used to let me close up at night. Said I had steady hands for counting the register."
They stepped inside. The scent was the same — roasted beans with a trace of vanilla. A few customers lingered in the back, and behind the counter, a silver-haired woman wiped down a tray of mugs. Her eyes widened when she saw Yuna.
"Yuna?" the woman breathed.
Yuna's smile warmed. "Aunty Lee. I didn't think you'd still remember me."
"How could I forget? You disappeared so suddenly."
They exchanged a few quick words — catching up, sharing small laughs — until Yuna wandered toward the back shelves, running her fingers over the old wood counter she used to polish.
That was when it happened.
A shadow flickered at the edge of the doorway. The sound of the street outside muffled into something sharper — the scrape of hurried footsteps. A man stepped inside, hood drawn low, his movements too quick, too deliberate.
Yuna barely turned before a glint of metal caught her eye — a narrow blade flashing under the café lights.
Everything slowed.
The man lunged.
She stumbled back instinctively, heart slamming against her ribs, the sound of her own pulse filling her ears. The café's warm air turned cold in an instant.
But before the blade could reach her, Ryu was there — moving like a current breaking through still water. His hand shot out, grabbing the attacker's wrist with a force that made the man gasp. The knife clattered to the floor, skidding beneath a chair.
In one motion, Ryu twisted the man's arm behind his back and slammed him against the wall. The shelves rattled with the impact, and the café's few patrons froze mid-breath.
"Call the police," Ryu said evenly, his voice low but commanding.
The man struggled, spitting out a curse in a language Yuna didn't recognize, but Ryu's grip didn't falter. He glanced at her once — just long enough to check that she was standing, unhurt.
Her knees felt weak, but she nodded faintly. "I'm fine."
Aunty Lee's hands shook as she reached for the phone, muttering something under her breath. Outside, the streetlights blinked on, casting long shadows into the café.
As sirens began to wail faintly in the distance, Yuna's eyes locked on Ryu's. For the briefest moment, she saw something in them not just alertness, not just control, but an undercurrent of something deeper.
Recognition.
Like he had been expecting this.