Ethan
Sebastian called two days after the incident at the restaurant, asking if I'd meet him somewhere quiet, and I found myself, for the second time in a month, sitting across from him in a dim, unremarkable bar neither of us belonged in anymore.
"I wanted to properly thank you," he said, once the bartender had delivered our drinks and retreated out of earshot. "Not the rushed version from that night, with everyone still shaking from adrenaline. A real thank you, for what you risked to get that photograph back."
"You don't need to keep thanking me," I said. "I've told you and Clara both. Consider it handled."
"It's not that simple to me." Sebastian turned his glass slowly on the table, the same nervous habit I remembered from our first conversation in this same booth weeks ago. "You s
