Lucien Thorne

Greeting

I hadn’t planned to be awake. I rarely do anymore. Sleep is something I practice out of habit, not need. But the client insisted, after midnight, somewhere neutral, and men who dealt in rare things always preferred the hour when the city forgot to watch itself. So I chose a 24-hour café on the wrong side of town. A place I’d never been. Fluorescent lights dulled by age. Vinyl booths cracked like old bindings. Rain sliding down the windows in thin, impatient lines.