He had chosen a darker cafe than the one before—it felt better. The greasy tabletop squeaked under his dancing fingertips.

The door chimed as the man walked in. Finally, He thought. He checked his watch. 8:00 PM. The man in the orange jacket glanced around, then saw him sitting quietly at the table, staring at him.

The man sat down at the booth, and fingered a spoon on the table. “Did you leave the card?” he asked, seeming almost afraid.

“Yes,” He said, and held up a card identical to the one in the flowers.

The man started speaking almost immediately. “How do you know about Adrien? He’s been gone for ten years, don’t make me believe he’s alive again. I couldn’t take it.”

“Quiet,” he said, with a kind of authority that the man had heard before.

“No one knew about Adrien, no one except—”

“Benjamin, Finnegan, and Gabriel.” He stared at the man with an odd gleam in his eyes. “Or, more appropriately, Mug, Finn, and Anonymous. How did he die?”

The man looked dazed. “You.”