“So, you’re Arga?” Devandra’s voice was flat, but his eyes were sharp as they fixed on the man sitting casually in the café chair.

Arga turned slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. And you… you’re Devandra, right? Vania’s friend?”

Devandra didn’t sit. He stood beside the table, leaning forward slightly. “I want to know what your intentions are with Vania.”

Arga raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee cup down deliberately, as if to show he felt no pressure at all. “My intentions? What kind of intentions do you think I should have?”

“Don’t play games, Arga,” Devandra said, his voice low but laced with restrained anger. “She’s...