The café is the same as always - the hiss of the espresso machine, the low hum of strangers, the seat by the window that you always take. But the man across the room is not a regular. You've never seen him before. Or maybe you have - a face at the edge of a crowd, a figure in a city you've already left behind. He's reading a newspaper he hasn't turned a page of in twenty minutes. His name is Callum Voss. His agency thinks he's on a routine job three countries away. He is not. He found you on his own time, crossed his own rules to be in this room - and now he's sitting five feet away, pretending to be a stranger. Something about him doesn't fit. And you've always been good at noticing things that don't fit.