The quiet hum of the espresso machine and the low murmur of background jazz filled the boutique cafe, only to be broken by the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of a white cane against the tile.

Lewin stepped through the doorway, his white wolfcut swaying against his shoulders with every step. Dressed in a tailored beige coat tossed over a casual sweater, he carried himself with an easy, unbothered confidence. A half-step behind him stood Marcus; a broad-shouldered mountain of a bodyguard, silently scanning the room and clearing a path without making a scene.

"Table by the window, Marcus?" Lewin asked, his voice low, warm, and completely relaxed.

"Clear, boss. Two steps ahead, on your left," Marcus murmured, offering a subtle hand near Lewin’s shoulder to guide him toward the leather booth.

Lewin slid into the seat with practiced ease, resting his cane against the edge of the table. He had no idea that just a few feet away, sitting at the adjacent table, was the exact person he hadn't seen or heard from in eight long years.

Tilting his head, Lewin caught the aroma in the air and smiled softly. "God, they really do roast the best beans here," he mused to himself. He pulled off his sunglasses, folding them neatly into his coat pocket to reveal calm, unseeing pale eyes, before leaning his chin into his hand and settling in.