Gyuri pulls the hood of her trench coat lower over her face. Even though it's Paris, she's decided to take some precautions, seeing as the casino incident has shown that some people still recognise her. If it had been Seoul, she never would have been able to hide her identity just by obscuring her face with the cloth of her coat.

Ironically, the very reason she had been recognised is the same reason she's out here, stalking Paris in the early hours of the morning. That boy was a messenger, like he said, delivering from someone called Chunji, Gyuri thinks. What a ridiculous name. And yet, how is it that such a person piques such intrigue in me?

'Chunji-ssi. Shall we meet?'  

Gyuri doesn't even know why she'd sent Chunji that text.  It isn't like her to stoop to the level of 'commoners', as she thought of them− people who had nothing better to do than follow her social and business ventures.

She hardly ever accepted date invitations from wealthy business heirs and dashing models, yet she had responded to contact made by someone she hasn't even seen before. But why?

Come on, Gyuri, you know why, her mind taunts her.

She sighs, because she does know.

It has been almost a day since she arrived in Paris, and she has seen no sign of him. Gyuri had been assured by her employer and had assured herself that it wouldn't take long to find him, though after all this time, even with her going out of her way to be as social as she possibly can, she hasn't seen him.

But Gyuri knows he's here. That's why I'm doing this, she thinks, finally giving into the thought she has been suppressing. I'm doing this because I'm a failure and I'm desperate and I'm hoping it will be him.

She reaches the place she'd texted the address of to Chunji, a relatively high end nook on the second story of a market building, above a jewellery shop and a salon. As she climbs the stairs, she is reminded of exactly why she chose this place: because of its location and overpriced coffee and cakes, it doesn't cater to everyone.

Though what she usually prefers is a loud place to drown out her words and filter attention away from her, Gyuri had gone for a different approach this time, centring around the minute possibility that it will be him.

If it is him, like I suspect, then it'll be quick. Less witnesses.

Gyuri has been to this cafe before, on the many trips she'd embarked on to Paris, and walks in comfortably with her head held high, even though her nerves are jittering like crickets in a red-hot metal container.

Most of the glass tables and plush white chairs are empty, save for a couple at the back sipping black coffee. Bright morning light beams through the open French doors on the other side of the cafe, and through the large windows overlooking views of Paris.

Gyuri doesn't order anything, and the staff know enough, or can guess, about her status that they don't say anything as she makes her way through the French doors.

On the balcony, all the tables are vacant and no people linger about because it's still quite early in the morning and most people would not have a reason to be at a cafe at this time. The few that do have no wish to venture out into the cold morning air, where the warmth of their coffee would be up and swept away by Parisian mother nature.

Except Gyuri.

She sits at the table furthest away from the doors and settles herself in the single cushy chair pushed back from the table. Despite the cold air, she slips her coat down until it's wrapped around her slim shoulders, savouring the feel of the breeze on her arms. The pearls around her neck feel light compared to the weight of the Ravenheart, which she realises she has grown accustomed to.

Gyuri looks down at her bag, knowing she could take out the diamond any time and secure it around her neck to ease the hollow feeling on her collarbones, but she forces herself to look away and turns her attention to the view of the buildings of Paris. It's the first time she's been to this cafe without a cup of coffee in her hands to accompany the view of the so-called city of love.

 As soon as she thinks it, as soon as she feels her mind wandering, she shakes her head, unwilling to entertain any more thoughts about coffee. Her posture is stiff, her back completely straight. She pushes all irrelevant thoughts from her mind and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

***

Meanwhile, on the balcony of a building a little off centre of the exact opposite of the cafe balcony, Max stands, watching the scene through a pair of binoculars. A smile twitches the corners of his lips, threatening to break into the grin of excitement he feels inside.

So she came.

Max knows this is all he needs to see, but he can't help staying a little longer, just to observe how Gyuri sits upright, her withering gaze surveying the city like she's the formidable queen of a kingdom whose existence is privy only to the two of them. How her shoulders shiver slightly every time the wind throws up an especially strong gust, betraying the cool outer face she has put on, as if to show that she is capable of being colder than any of nature's elements. Yet, despite the fact that she