Connor had been in the café for forty minutes.
Technically thirty-nine, but the way the second hand dragged itself around the clock made it feel longer. The room was warm and familiar, with sunlight catching on polished marble and the scent of roasted beans mingling with the faint whisper of morning ether flowing through the conduits above, but none of it helped to relieve the tension in his chest.
He was waiting for him.
He disliked how quiet the rooftop café was at this early hour; it allowed for thoughts, and his thoughts were rarely kind when they turned to the divine.
The sky hung heavy above the glass canopy, washed in the silver-blue haze of a city that never quite slept. Below, traffic pulsed like veins of light. Up here, everything smelled of coffee, ozone, and the faint hum of ether lines buried beneath steel.
He checked his watch… again. Ten minutes past the agreed time.
Typical.
