Jasmin's POV
The cafeteria hummed with the familiar symphony of afternoon chaos. Silverware scraped against plastic trays while the heavy aroma of roasted meat and vegetable broth clung to the air like smoke from a dying fire. I bit into my grilled chicken wrap, chewing slowly as the man across from me shifted in his seat with deliberate theatrics.
"Well, well," Hardy announced, his voice pitched loud enough to silence the nearest tables. "Look what we have here. Even killers need their lunch breaks, apparently."
The words hit the air like a match striking flint. Laughter exploded from his table in sharp, ugly bursts. Matthew lounged beside him, examining his fingernails with practiced indifference, as though this entire scene had been rehearsed to perfection.
