After traveling toward The Bev for a bit, I admitted to myself that I would have to go down to ground level in order to find the correct street. They all looked the same from fifty feet in the air.

After not touching the ground for seven years, now I'm doing so twice in as many days, I realized, smiling wryly at the irony. My train of thought soon changed direction, however, as I looked around for somewhere to get to the ground.

I paced around the perimeter of the building until I found what I was looking for: a fire escape. Unlike the policeman's apartment building, this one had a ladder leading from the roof to the first platform. Breathing a sigh of relief, I descended the ladder and was on the ground in a matter of minutes, massaging my tender ears.

I was so concerned about getting to The Bev on time that I took none of yesterday's precautions while entering the street. It was only too late that I remembered that the people surrounding me could be armed and desperate.

There were more people on this street. They looked well-kept, although they walked quickly and shot me a fair number of suspicious looks.

I glanced down at myself and sighed. With my faded, frayed clothing, I was now the sketchy stranger. I ducked my head and hurried toward the corner, where a street sign protruded from the concrete.

Although this area of town seemed safer than the one I had previously visited, I still wasted no time in getting to The Bev. I also tried not to think about how nearby my old apartment was.

Finally, the familiar cafe came into view. I halted in my tracks upon seeing it, frozen in place.

My mother gripped my hand as she pushed open the cafe's front door. The familiar scent of a mix of various drinks hit me instantly and I wrinkled my small nose in distaste.

Mom laughed, giving my hand a squeeze. "Someday, you'll love this smell."

I blinked back tears and crossed the street, hesitantly entering the cafe.

It was even harder to control the flashbacks in here. Although the shop's paint was faded and it seemed generally wearier than it had seven years ago, the aroma, while weaker, was still present.

I inhaled deeply. You were right, Mom.

Once I had taken several calming breaths and was somewhat assured that I had my emotions under control, I realized something: I didn't know what the Gambler's secretary looked like.

I awkwardly took a seat at the nearest two-person table, glancing around the cafe to keep myself occupied. I let out a short breath of relief when I saw the clock on the wall, which read in large blue letters, "6:53." I was early, then. At least I knew I hadn't missed her.

I flinched when a girl casually slid into the seat across from me, pulling off a comm and slipping it into a flesh bag fitted onto her forearm. I remembered having one when I was little - a zippered bag that adhered directly and painlessly onto one's skin.

The girl and I stared at each other in silence for a moment, giving me time to take in the sight of her.

Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail with a few wispy strands framing her gentle face. In fact, all of her features were gentle and slightly rounded. Her noise was upturned and her full lips were curved into a slight smile. From behind long lashes, a pair of dark blue eyes surveyed me, the expression within them unfathomable.

She was beautiful.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat, acutely aware of my appearance in comparison to hers.

"Claire?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. Her voice was simple and sweet.

I nodded, at a loss for words. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting this secretary to look like, but whatever it was, this was not it. Maybe it was her stunning looks - or how young she was. I had certainly expected someone older.

"Let me get us some drinks," the girl decided, standing and rapping the tabletop decisively. I nodded again, still speechless, but not from surprise. Now, it was from pure nervousness - it had been a long time since I had had a one-on-one conversation with such an attractive girl, not to mention a complete stranger.

I glanced over at the counter and saw that the secretary was leaning forward to exchange hushed words with the barista. It didn't seem like she was just ordering drinks.

Sure enough, once she backed away, the barista called out, "I'm sorry, folks, but we have to close early. We have an inspection this afternoon."

Some patrons rose and departed quickly and without complaint, but the majority of them - not that there had been many to begin with - left slowly, groaning in irritation and muttering angrily.

Once they had all left, the barista raised his eyebrows at the secretary and said dryly, "You owe me, Evie. That was the busiest this place has been in days."

Evie, So that was the girl's name.

"Hey!" Evie hissed angrily, glancing over her shoulder. "I'm with a client."

"Who I'm sure can kill you with your name," the barista retorted sarcastically.

To my surprise, the young man actually did brew us drinks, giving Evie a small brown package to top it all off.

"I'll transfer you the money later," she told him over her shoulder as she returned to our table.

"Sure you will," the barista muttered wearily, returning to cleaning the counter.