Chapter 20 – The Man in the Café
The photo stayed in Maya's bag the entire day.
She couldn't bring herself to look at it again—at the timestamp, the angle, the eerie precision. Someone had been there that night. Someone close enough to catch her on camera. But who? And why now?
The gallery was open, but she barely registered the usual flow of customers. Her heart kept pounding in strange rhythms, her ears ringing every time the bell above the door chimed.
Liam checked in every hour, texting or calling, but she could feel the worry stretching between them. Thick like fog. He didn't push her, but she knew him well enough to feel the tension building.
By 3 p.m., she couldn't take it anymore.
She flipped the sign to CLOSED and walked the three blocks to Café Meraki—their usual place. Liam was already there, sitting at their favorite booth near the window, two mugs of hot chocolate waiting.
She sat down, reached into her bag, and slid the photo across the table.
"I didn't tell you everything," she said quietly.
Liam's jaw tightened. "I figured."
Maya stared at the mug, fingers wrapped around the warmth like it might hold her together.
"There was someone else there that night," she whispered. "A man. I saw him. He was standing in the alley before I got there. Just... watching. I didn't think it mattered. He was gone before the police showed up."
"Why didn't you say that before?"
"Because I wasn't sure. Because I didn't want to get pulled into something that might ruin everything. I didn't even know who he was."
Liam leaned forward. "But he saw you. That's who's sending the letters."
She nodded.
"Then we find him."
Maya blinked. "How? It was a year ago. A different country."
Liam pulled his phone from his pocket. "Let me try something."
She watched as he scrolled, typed, swiped—his expression locked into concentration. Finally, he turned the phone toward her.
It was a screenshot from a news site in Florence.
Unidentified man linked to string of tourist incidents. Police seek witness from October 28.
Below it was a blurry still image from a CCTV camera. Her blood went cold.
It was him.
Same coat. Same build. The man in the alley.
The article was dated two months ago.
"He's not just some bystander," Liam said, voice tight. "He's a suspect."
Maya's hands trembled. "And now he's here?"
"Or someone working with him."
That night, they filed a report with the local police.
An officer named Detective Serrano took them seriously. He examined the letters, the photo, and logged everything. But even he admitted it would be hard to track someone with no digital trail.
"Stay alert," he warned. "Keep everything. Don't go anywhere alone."
When they returned home, Maya sank onto the couch, exhausted.
"This is my fault," she murmured.
"No," Liam said firmly. "You did what you thought was right. But now we handle it."
She looked at him, searching his eyes. "You're not scared?"
"I am," he admitted. "But I'm more scared of what happens if we ignore this."
Two days later, another envelope arrived. But this time—it wasn't addressed to Maya.
It was addressed to Liam.
Inside was a single sentence:
You should ask her what she's not telling you.
He didn't show it to her right away. He tucked it into his jacket and pretended nothing had come.
But that night, as she painted in the studio, he stood watching her from the doorway. And the question clawed at his ribs.
What else?
What else hadn't she said?
Maya noticed his distance.
His hands were colder. His words shorter. When she asked if something was wrong, he smiled too fast and changed the subject.
She couldn't blame him. Her world was unraveling and she'd dragged him into it.
By the end of the week, they were barely speaking at all.
Then, one morning, Liam's truck was broken into.
Nothing stolen.
But sitting on the dashboard was a copy of the same photo Maya received—this time, with Liar scrawled in red ink across the bottom.