The ride to the coffee shop was quiet—too quiet.
Caleb sat in the backseat, one arm draped lazily over the door while his mind ran in circles.
Every second that ticked by felt heavier than the last. Naya drove with her usual calm precision, her eyes fixed on the road, lips pressed in a thin line.
The city outside was alive with motion—sleek cars zipping past, pedestrians bustling along glassy sidewalks—but inside the car, tension hung like a storm cloud.
"You sure about this?" Caleb finally broke the silence.
Naya didn't glance at him. "You want Diego off your back, right? Then yes, I'm sure."
"Fair enough," Caleb muttered, adjusting his sunglasses. "So… how friendly is this guy? Should I expect him to shake my hand or cut it off?"
Naya smirked faintly. "I haven't talked to him in the past, honestly... so I don't know. Depends on what mood he's in—and what you offer him."
