Adrián changed his shirt three times.
He wasn’t admitting, not even to himself, that he was changing his shirt three times for any specific reason. He was testing options. Exploring possibilities. Considering the weather. Normal things normal people do when they’re going to a convenience store at seven in the evening.
He ended up in a dark gray hoodie and jeans, exactly the same thing he’d wear to go down for milk.
Perfect. Zero visible effort. Maximum dignity preserved.
He walked down four flights of stairs because the elevator was still in its philosophical phase.
Outside, the sun was already touching the rooftops. The air had cooled slightly. A group of three students passed on the other side of the street, laughing at something. A motorcycle started up in the distance. A pigeon was fighting with a sandwich wrapper on the corner.
Everything normal.
Adrián walked the two blocks to the convenience store at a pace that was neither rushed nor slow—the exact rhythm of a person who isn’t thinking about absolutely anything.
The store was called Moonlight. A blue and white neon sign above the door, with a stylized crescent moon in the corner. Large windows that let you see inside: orderly aisles, a coffee machine in the back, a counter with a man behind it.
Adrián pushed the door open. The bell chimed.
"Evening," he said, out of reflex, without looking at the counter.
"Mmm," a deep voice responded.
Sariel hadn’t arrived yet.
Adrián walked to the back section, pretending interest in the flavors of potato chips while glancing at the wall clock from the corner of his eye. 6:58.
I didn’t arrive early. I arrived on time. It’s different.
He noticed the man at the counter was watching him.
Adrián looked up.
The man was in his mid-forties. Tall—not as tall as Adrián, but heavier built—with short black hair and graying temples, three days’ worth of stubble, and a vertical scar running from his forehead down to his right cheek, crossing through his eye. The eye seemed to work, apparently, but was permanently narrowed. He wore a short-sleeved shirt under the store apron, a toothpick between his teeth, and the universal expression of "I’m not paid enough to pretend I care who you are."
They looked at each other.
"Need something?" the man asked.
"I’m waiting for someone."
"Uh-huh. Don’t steal anything."
The man went back to the magazine open on the counter. A half-finished crossword puzzle.
Adrián went back to pretending interest in potato chips, but something at the back of his neck had gone slightly tense. The man wasn’t openly staring, but somehow Adrián could feel the attention sweeping over him every so often, like a radar sweep.
He’s on edge with me. Why?
The bell chimed again.
"Sorry, sorry," Sariel’s voice came as she entered. "The librarian caught me just as I was leaving and gave me a twenty-minute lecture on the ethics of marginal notes."
Adrián turned around.
She wore a long black coat over the clothes he’d already seen at the library—silk blouse, midi skirt, boots—with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. The ring with the feather was still on her index finger.
She smiled at Adrián from the door. Then turned her head toward the counter.
And in that half-second, Adrián noticed two things his brain filed away without fully processing:
One, Sariel’s smile froze for a fraction of a second when she saw the man at the counter.
Two, the man at the counter stopped moving the toothpick in his mouth and lowered his hand toward something under the counter before stopping himself, forcing himself to relax, and bringing his hand back up.
They looked at each other for one, two, three exact seconds.
Then Sariel smiled again, this time with a perfectly rehearsed warmth, and walked toward Adrián like nothing had happened.
"Vega. Punctual. I like it."
"Points for me," said Adrián, still processing what he had or hadn’t just seen. "Coffee. You promised coffee."
"Machine in the back. Let’s go."
They walked to the coffee machine. Sariel chose two cups. Pressed the buttons.
"You know how this works?" Adrián asked.
"It’s the same machine in every store of this chain. Once you use one, you know how they all work."
"Uh-huh."
She looked at him from the corner of her eye.
"Uh-huh?"
"Nothing. Just... ’uh-huh.’ It’s a sound people make."
"Vega, if you’re going to suspect me, do it openly."
"I’m not suspecting you."
"Your jaw is tense."
"Stop looking at my jaw. Everyone’s looking at my jaw today. I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with my jaw."
Sariel laughed. It was a short laugh, real, surprised—like she hadn’t expected to laugh herself.
"There’s nothing wrong with your jaw," she said, handing him the coffee cup. "You clench it when you’re thinking things you don’t want to say out loud. It’s useful to know."
"Great. Now everyone can read me like an open book."
"Only trained people."
"And you’re trained?"
"Criminology," she said, shrugging. "Second year, behavioral analysis course. You learn to read micro-expressions before you learn how to write a report."
"You said third year at the library."
Sariel stopped with the cup halfway to her lips.
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