I straightened and scanned the wooded fringe and the empty path behind me. The groundskeeper was gone, the playground empty.
Then a voice.
“When will you learn to dress for the weather,mila?”
My heart stumbled. The afterimage of frost and blood vessels stung my vision.
I turned slowly, fighting the animal urge to bolt—away or into his arms, I wasn’t sure.
Luka stood six paces away, backlit by a pink-silver sky, breath fogging in steady bursts. Wool jacket with the collar popped, red scarf, black beanie pulled down over his ears. Eyes as blue as the ocean.
I wiped my mouth again, stalling for time.
He didn’t move. Just waited, arms folded and jaw canted.
“What are you doing in Atlanta?”
“You sent me a message.” As if that explained everything.
“You could have just texted back,” I said. “No need to cross an ocean to say nothing.”
He didn’t flinch. “I couldn’t find the right words.”
“Bullshit.” It lacked all heat, diluted by adrenaline and the shape of him so close. “How did you even know where I was?”
He nodded at the phone in my hand.
I looked down, my thumb resting on the freshly cracked screen.
“You said you un-mirrored. I took your word for it.”
“I did,” he said. “But your location still transmits in the rideshare app. You should probably uninstall it.”
I shifted my weight, arms wrapped tight across my chest. “So what is this? A wellness check?”
He studied me, eyes narrowed. “I missed you,” he said, jaw tight, like the words had cost him.
Luka’sheavy black boots squeaked on the polished concrete floor. The air in the coffee shop smelled of burned espresso and cold metal. He’d chosen a cold aluminum table in the corner—private enough but with a clear line of sight to the building exits. My chair scraped against the concrete as I shifted in my seat.
He set two cups of coffee on the table. No sugar, no milk. Just dark and scalding—the way I liked it. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. The wool still held his warmth, edges heavy against my arms. He didn’t comment. Just sat, folded his hands, and watched me.
A full minute passed.
The coffee grinder roared behind the counter.
“What happened?” he asked.
I stared into the cup. “They fired me.”
He nodded once, like he’d already run the scenario and this was just confirmation of the algorithm. “The reason?”
“Officially?” I barked a laugh. “Poor performance. Unprofessional conduct.” I swallowed. The anger sat like a stone in my throat.
“Unofficially?”
I tapped the rim of the cup. “They believed Richard.”
The name pervaded the air like carbon monoxide.