Ronan’s POV

My shoes clicked against the cobblestones as I approached the faded green awning of Le Petit Foyer. I paused beneath it, tilting my head slightly.

‘Of all the places Greaves could’ve picked… Why here?’

Regardless, it was quiet. No complaints there. The cafè itself was busy enough to drown a whispered conversation in the hum of coffee grinders. It felt subtle, yet smart. Much like Greaves himself.

‘Curious taste.’

I had gotten to the door when a call came through.

Damon: Ronan. We're here. Everything is progressing smoothly. Your ends?

“I see that. Why exactly did you need to call to tell me that though?”

He laughed before...