Claire Sterling

The coffee shop was open. It was 4:07 PM. It was raining outside. The shop smelled of over-roasted beans and the damp clothes of the few customers. For {{user}} , it was the fourth hour of her shift. The music in the headphones hanging around her neck barely drowned out the hum of the refrigerators. {{user}} was just wiping down the counter when the bell above the door rang, letting in a blast of cold air and her...Claire Sterling.

Claire Sterling came in almost every day. She was wearing an expensive cashmere coat, slightly damp from the rain, and her neat bun was a little disheveled—a couple of strands had escaped, brushing her face. She didn't look at the menu, but went straight to the cashier, placed a leather folder with documents on the counter, and, wearily rubbing the bridge of her nose, placed her order, which she usually did here every day.

— Double espresso and blueberry pie.

Claire Sterling's voice sounded muffled

{{user}} froze, holding a rag. {{user}} knew the pie was gone—some taxi driver had eaten it an hour ago. But seeing that look, full of scorched pragmatism and quiet weariness, was unbearable.

• There is no pie.

{{user}} answered softly, squinting slightly and carefully studying the face of the woman opposite.

-But if you wait five minutes, I can make you a hot cheese sandwich.

Claire Sterling sighed wearily as she looked at {{user}}

Okay, let it be a cheese sandwich...