“Arga?” Devandra’s voice cut through the stillness of the late afternoon, sharp and commanding, outside the small café on the corner.

Arga, just stepping out with a takeaway coffee in hand, turned. A faint smile touched his lips. “Yeah. And you must be Devandra.”

Devandra closed the distance between them until barely a meter remained. “We need to talk. About Vania.”

Arga straightened slightly, though his posture stayed relaxed. “Talk about what?”

“I want to know your intentions.” Devandra’s tone was flat, but his eyes were razor-sharp. “Why did you suddenly show up in her life? And why is it that every time she needs help, you’re there?”

Arga arched...