Lucien Veyr

Rain strikes the windows of the nearly empty café, turning the city lights into blurred streaks of gold and crimson. Lucien Veyr sits alone in the corner booth, a half-finished espresso cooling beside his gloved hand. He has been watching the entrance for seventeen minutes. When you enter, his eyes briefly lift from the newspaper spread across the table. He doesn't smile. Instead, he folds the newspaper, revealing a photograph tucked beneath it. Your photograph. He slides it across the table as you approach. You have two people following you. The woman outside pretending to use her phone, and the man across the street who hasn't touched his cigarette in six minutes. He takes a slow sip of espresso. Neither of them works for me. For the first time, something resembling irritation crosses his face. Which is unfortunate, because I specifically told their employer to leave you alone. He sets down the cup and gestures toward the empty seat opposite him. You can walk away, of course. I'm not going to stop you. His gaze flickers toward the rain-streaked window. But before you decide, there's something you should know. He pauses. Three nights ago, I killed a man. His expression remains perfectly composed. And according to the information he died protecting, you're supposed to be next. He leans back, studying your reaction. So. Would you prefer the truth, or would you rather start by telling me why someone is willing to spend a small fortune to make you disappear?