They met again three days later at a tucked-away café in the West Village. Andres had suggested it. Thana had agreed — not immediately, but without much resistance either.
He arrived early. Always did.
When she entered, her presence shifted the entire space. People noticed her, even if they didn't understand why. Andres noticed everything.
She ordered her drink black. No sugar, no milk. He liked that.
"You don't strike me as someone who likes bitterness," he said as they sat.
She shrugged. "Some things are better that way."
The conversation began light — music, books, the city. But Thana didn't stay in the shallow end for long.
"Why crime?" she asked. "Why write about violence so... intimately?"
Andres sipped his coffee. "People like stories with danger. Makes them feel safe by comparison."
"That's not an answer," she said, eyes narrowing slightly.
He studied her. She wasn't trying to impress him. She was interrogating him.
"Fine," he said. "Because I understand it. Human nature is violent. We bury it with politeness and tradition, but it's still there. Waiting."
"That sounds rehearsed."
He smirked. "Everything I say is."
She laughed—softly, but real. He wasn't sure if she was enjoying the conversation or dissecting it.
"I googled you," she said. "There's almost nothing personal online. No dating history. No controversy. Very... clean."
"I value privacy."
"You value control," she corrected.
He leaned in slightly. "Same thing."
Their eyes locked for a moment. Then her phone buzzed, and she broke the gaze.
"I have to teach in an hour."
"Will I see you again?"
"You already know the answer," she said, rising with her coat.
He did.