Mid-forties.
Broad shoulders.
Work boots.
But it’s not the way he moves that catches my attention.
It’s the way helooks at the room.
Quick.
Efficient.
Cataloging.
Just like I did when I walked in.
Wren notices the shift in my posture immediately.
“What?” she whispers.
“Three o’clock.”
She doesn’t turn.
She just lifts her coffee and glances casually in the reflection of the window.
“Pastor Eli?” she asks quietly.
“Maybe.”
The man walks to the counter and exchanges a few words with the waitress.
He laughs.
Friendly.
Relaxed.
But his eyes sweep the room again.
And pause on us.
Just long enough to notice.
Then he looks away.
Wren sets her coffee down.
“Did he clock us?”
“Yes.”
“Suspicious?”
“Professional.”
That makes her go very still.
