The café beneath Joon-ho's apartment was a different world from the city outside. Tucked away, all soft gold and deep green, with velvet seats and an unspoken promise that privacy was more than policy—it was law. The regulars here were the sort who valued discretion over any menu, and today was no exception.
Yura arrived with Joon-ho, their entrance drawing a glance from Su-bin behind the counter—a curve of a smile, then a quick wave as she disappeared into the kitchen. The air was thick with the aroma of dark roast and butter, warm even in the sharp Seoul winter.
At a corner table by the window sat Madam Ha-eun, unbothered by the cold, luminous as ever in an emerald dress that clung to curves and shimmered in the low light. Her long hair was swept into an artful chignon, a pearl pin holding it in place, her lips painted wine-dark. When she saw them, she rose with open arms.
"Unnie!" Yura called out, all caution melting away, her voice echoing with real affection.
