At a café near Blackwell Tower, Damien meets a mysterious older man in a grey raincoat. Their conversation is cryptic, layered with veiled threats. The man references Damien's past, a woman who disappeared, and warns: "You're playing with fire again."
Part 4: "The Man in the Grey Raincoat"
Last moment:
[The pulse in her throat said otherwise.]
The café was hidden between two buildings that didn't exist on most maps.
No sign. No menus. No music.
The kind of place where people came to speak in low voices, and the coffee tasted like it had survived a war.
Damien sat at the back, facing the entrance, as always. The window behind him was streaked with rain, casting fractured shadows over the marble tabletop. He stirred his espresso once, clockwise.
Then he waited.
The man appeared exactly five minutes late.
Grey raincoat. Matching hat. Black leather gloves. He moved like he used to be important somewhere—government, intelligence, something older. Damien didn't rise as he approached. He simply looked up, cool and still.
The man removed his hat. Sat down without asking.
No handshake.
"Still dressing like a Bond villain, I see," the man said, voice dry.
Damien offered nothing. Just sipped his coffee.
"I assume this isn't a social call," he said finally.
The man leaned back. "You're watching her."
Damien's jaw flexed, but his expression didn't change. "You'll have to be more specific."
The man gave a thin smile. "You always did like pretending."
A beat of silence.
Rain rattled the window like fingernails on glass.
The man slid something across the table: an old photograph. Slightly bent at the corner. Black-and-white. Two women in a field of high grass, one laughing, the other shielding her eyes from the sun.
Damien didn't touch it.
"Her name was Evelyne," the man said. "Or did you forget?"
Damien's fingers stilled around the cup.
"She's gone," he said.
The man's eyes narrowed. "So is her file. Her body. Her name. Funny thing, that. It's like she never existed."
Damien met his gaze. "What do you want?"
"To warn you." The man leaned in, voice low. "You're playing with fire again. Only this time, she won't vanish. Not like the last one. You see it, don't you? That girl… she doesn't bend."
A flash of something flickered behind Damien's eyes. Memory, maybe. Or regret.
The man stood. Replaced his hat.
"You think you're the devil in this story, Damien," he said quietly. "But you forget—devils can drown too."
He left without another word.
Damien stared at the photo.
Still didn't touch it.
But the moment the door shut behind the man, he burned it. Right there on the table.
And watched the ashes curl inward.