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“I’ll have a flat white with whatever blend you're serving today,” Ann said, closing the menu halfway. “Oh—and before I decide, what desserts would you recommend? I've heard wonderful things about this place, but I can't seem to make up my mind.”
The waitress smiled, clearly pleased by the question. “If you're asking me personally, the sweet potato trifle. It's my favorite on the menu. The potatoes come from a farm less than a mile away, and our pastry chef roasts them every morning before turning them into the jam. It's surprisingly good.”
“That does sound tempting.”
“It pairs really well with a flat white, too. Not overly sweet.”
Ann chuckled, handing the menu back. “You've convinced me. One flat white and a sweet potato trifle.”
“Excellent choice. I'll have those right out.”
Ann settled back into the booth as the waitress disappeared behind the counter.
The café was small, quiet, and overflowing with greenery. Ferns spilled from hanging baskets, climbing vines wrapped themselves around exposed wooden beams, and broad-leafed plants softened every corner of the room. Sunlight poured through tall front windows, washing over polished oak tables and honey-colored floors. Contemporary abstract paintings lined the walls, their bold splashes of color contrasting with the rustic wood and warm lighting. Somehow the place felt both modern and timeless, as though it belonged equally to the present day and another era entirely.
Few people would have recognized Ann Takamaki at first glance.
She hadn't changed much since her teenage years, though adulthood had settled comfortably upon her. She carried herself with an effortless confidence that came only with experience. A loose cream-colored sweater draped neatly over slate-gray trousers, simple enough for an afternoon coffee yet refined enough that she could have walked straight into a board meeting without attracting a second glance.
Her blonde hair was pinned neatly into a tidy updo, revealing delicate earrings that caught the light whenever she turned her head. Time had been unusually kind to her. It wasn't the impossible perfection of expensive surgery or carefully concealed cosmetics. Rather, it was the face of someone who rarely allowed herself to be burdened by stress. Calm had become second nature.
The only extravagance in her appearance was her jewelry. Around her neck rested a sterling silver chain supporting a single teardrop diamond, brilliant but tasteful. Matching silver bangles encircled each wrist, tiny diamonds set flush into the polished metal so they shimmered whenever she lifted her hands.
The waitress returned carrying a ceramic cup and a crystal dessert glass.
“Here you are miss.”
“Thank you.”
Everything was plated with quiet precision. The flat white arrived with silky microfoam decorated by a delicate rosette, while the trifle stood in carefully layered bands of golden sponge cake, roasted sweet potato jam, vanilla buttercream, and whipped cream. The top had been lightly caramelized, the sugar blistered into a thin amber crust that cracked softly beneath her spoon.
Ann lifted the cup first. The coffee was rich and complex, carrying notes of dark chocolate and toasted hazelnut beneath its pleasant bitterness. The milk rounded off the sharper edges without drowning the espresso, leaving each sip balanced and smooth.
The trifle complemented it perfectly. The earthy sweetness of the roasted potatoes kept the dessert from becoming cloying, while the caramelized sugar added just enough bitterness to echo the coffee. Together they felt less like dessert and more like a carefully composed course.
For a while, the only sounds were quiet conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, and gentle jazz drifting through hidden speakers. Then Ann's attention drifted toward the television mounted above the counter.
The music continued uninterrupted as a red banner slid across the screen.
MAN FOUND DEAD IN HOTEL ROOM
Images flickered one after another. A luxury hotel surrounded by police tape. A formal portrait of a middle-aged businessman.
Photographs of the same man smiling beside politicians, executives, and celebrities on four different continents. The news anchor maintained the detached professionalism expected of someone reporting another stranger's tragedy.
“Tokyo Metropolitan Police believe the victim may have interrupted a robbery,” she said. “No suspects have been identified at this time. Investigators believe the perpetrator was voluntarily admitted into the victim's hotel room before fatally attacking him with a sharp instrument. Anyone with information is urged to contact the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.”
Ann allowed herself the faintest smile before taking another sip of coffee.
No suspects. No witnesses. No useful surveillance footage. Exactly as planned.
The police didn't know she'd been the woman who accompanied him upstairs only minutes after the corridor's security cameras had mysteriously stopped functioning.
They didn't know how he'd looked at her in the elevator—eyes lingering far too long, his smile carrying the smug confidence of a man convinced money entitled him to anything he desired.
They didn't know how quickly that confidence vanished.
How his expression shifted from anticipation to confusion as the narrow steel point slipped between his ribs. How he'd tried to speak, only for the words to dissolve into wet, choking breaths while she calmly twisted the blade once before pulling it free.
It had taken less than a minute.
Whether the public would ever learn what kind of man he'd truly been remained uncertain.
He'd never faced criminal charges. Wealth and influence had ensured that.
Perhaps now, with him safely beyond prosecution, victims would finally speak without fear. Perhaps investigators would uncover what everyone around him had chosen to ignore. Or perhaps the truth would disappear beneath expensive lawyers and carefully worded obituaries.
Ann wasn't willing to leave that to chance.
Resting beside her chair was a patent leather handbag. Inside, wrapped individually in soft cloth, lay the trophies she'd taken before leaving the hotel.
His titanium-and-gold tie clip. The absurd sapphire ring he'd worn on his index finger like a badge of status. And his watch, a limited-production luxury timepiece worth several million yen on its own.
She had no intention of keeping any of it.
Iwai would appraise the haul, separate sentiment from value, and reduce it all to anonymous pieces that could never be traced back to its former owner. The tie clip and wedding band would be melted down for their gold. The sapphire would be subtly recut, just enough to erase its distinctive facets before disappearing into another setting on another continent.
The watch was the only complication. His initials were engraved across the caseback, deep enough that simply polishing them away wouldn't do. A competent jeweler could fill the engraving, brush the steel, and make it look factory-fresh, but even then Ann disliked the risk. Watches had serial numbers. Paper trails. Collectors who remembered details most people overlooked.
She clicked her tongue. Maybe that one belonged with the yakuza instead.
Iwai knew more than a few people who appreciated expensive timepieces that came with inconvenient histories. Someone would buy it, no questions asked, and before long it would vanish into a private collection where no detective would ever think to look.
The only piece she intended to keep was a single diamond no larger than a grain of rice, pried from the tie clip before the rest disappeared into Iwai's workshop.
Everyone deserved a trophy. Hunters mounted antlers above their fireplaces. Shrikes skewered their prey on thorns as grisly little larders. Ann preferred gemstones.
Every jewel she wore had a story, though none had ever been purchased. Each had been earned through spilt blood.
The money itself rarely stayed with her. Once Iwai took his cut, nearly everything else found its way into anonymous donations, debt payments, medical bills, shelters, or quiet envelopes that appeared where they were needed most. Faces she'd never meet lived easier because of the people she'd buried.
Still...Who said a girl couldn't treat herself?
Her fingertip drifted to the large teardrop gem resting against the soft fabric of her sweater. It caught the café lights in flashes of icy blue. That one had been satisfying.
The executive had preyed on her young secretary for years, dangling promotions and permanent employment over his head while taking whatever she wanted from him behind locked office doors. Everyone knew she was demanding. No one cared enough to ask why another assistant quit every few months. Ann had.
She could still remember unclasping the sapphire earring while the woman lay motionless across the polished hardwood floor of her luxury condominium. Between the bloodless complexion, untouched furniture, and immaculate apartment, the missing stone had gone unnoticed. Compared to the woman's considerable wealth, one absent jewel barely registered.
Just like the poison dissolving in her evening tea…
Takemi had supplied it to Ann with little more than a raised eyebrow and a warning. It would, in her words, "dispatch rats in a rather... extravagant manner."
She hadn't been exaggerating. The toxin didn't grant the mercy of a quick death. Muscles locked and spasmed. Every nerve seemed to ignite at once. Breathing became labor. Consciousness lingered far longer than anyone deserved, trapped inside a body that betrayed itself until the heart finally surrendered.
Officially, it had been ruled a suicide. The half-empty bottle of prescription medication resting neatly beside her favorite teacup had seen to that.
A tragedy. No signs of foul play. Case closed.
Three days later, the former secretary received an anonymous gift box. Inside were two premium honeydew melons, perfectly wrapped the way only expensive department stores managed, a respectable bottle of wine, and beneath layers of decorative paper, a stack of neatly banded yen.
Ann finished the last of her coffee, savoring the lingering bitterness before setting the cup onto its saucer.
She slipped on her coat and headed for the door. Tipping wasn't customary in Japan. In fact, it often made people uncomfortable. That didn't stop her.
As she passed the waitress who had served her, Ann folded a few extra bills into the woman's apron pocket with the practiced ease of a pickpocket working in reverse. She was halfway to the exit before the waitress realized what had happened.
"Miss! Excuse me!"
Ann glanced back with polite confusion.
"Is something wrong?"
The young woman hurried over, holding out the money with both hands.
"I think you accidentally-“.
"Oh?" Ann blinked, as though seeing the bills for the first time. "Really? That's strange."
She offered an apologetic smile and a small bow before the waitress could insist.
"Ive got to go. Please, don't worry about it."
Then she stepped out into the afternoon crowd, disappearing into the sea of umbrellas before the woman could protest again.