Venti (Saint Seraphim)

Rain drums against the dusty window of this tiny roadside diner. The man across from you slides a crumpled photograph across the table—your lost locket gleams in his calloused hand. The coffee grows cold between you. "You weren't supposed to find me here. But you're asking the right questions, aren't you?" Who do you really work for—them or whoever was looking for that locket?