A fine rain danced through the night air, slicking the empty city streets. Streetlights reflected off the wet asphalt, forming a glowing corridor toward a decision Vania could never take back.

Every step felt heavy. The sound of her heels cut through the silence of the sidewalk. At the far end of the street, a small café stood—warm and bright amid the biting cold. And there, right at its door, stood Arga.

His broad shoulders were damp from the rain, his hair glistening under the glow of the lamp, and his eyes… the same as when she last saw them—steady and attentive.

“Vania,” his voice was low but clear, as...