Roslyn hadn't pnned to go back to the Records Office today.

  She'd told herself she needed to give Townmouse time: let the memory of their first meeting fade a bit, come back in a few days with new questions and a fresh approach. Build the connection slowly.

  But then she saw her.

  Roslyn had been walking through the market district, half-listening to Wolf's instructions in her head (*Don't push too hard, don't spook her, we need those maps*), when she passed a small café with wide windows that looked out onto the street.

  And there, sitting alone in a corner booth, was Townmouse.

  Roslyn stopped.

  The mouse woman looked different. Smaller, somehow. More vulnerable. Her wire-rimmed gsses were off, folded neatly beside a cup of tea. One hand held a book, the other rested on the table, fingers tapping absently. Her colr was unbuttoned, just the top button, but enough to make her look less severe. Her ears twitched occasionally as she read, whiskers catching the afternoon light.

  She looked... softer.

  *Do I do this?*

  Roslyn's pulse quickened. This wasn't the pn. But pns changed. Good thieves adapted.

  She pushed open the café door.

  The bell above jingled softly. Townmouse didn't look up. Roslyn crossed the room, keeping her steps light, casual. When she reached the booth, she let a note of pleasant surprise color her voice.

  "Oh! Miss Whitfield, isn't it?"

  Townmouse's head snapped up. Her whiskers went rigid, ears fttening slightly. For a moment, she looked almost panicked: caught somewhere she didn't want to be seen, or caught being something other than the efficient Director of Records.

  "I... yes." Townmouse straightened, reaching for her gsses. "Miss...?"

  "Roslyn." She smiled, warm and apologetic. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt your break. I just wanted to say thank you again for your help the other day."

  Townmouse's fingers closed around her gsses but didn't put them on. She seemed uncertain, torn between professionalism and the clear desire to not be in work mode right now.

  "That's... you're welcome." Townmouse's voice was cautious. Guarded.

  Roslyn read the hesitation and took a small step back. "I'll let you get back to your book. I didn't mean to intrude."

  She turned to leave.

  "You can sit," Townmouse said suddenly. "If you'd like."

  Roslyn looked back, letting her expression brighten just enough. "Are you sure? I don't want to..."

  "It's fine." Townmouse gestured to the opposite seat, then seemed to realize how abrupt that sounded. "I mean. If you want to."

  "Thank you." Roslyn slid into the booth, settling across from her. She gnced at the book, something dry and technical about nd surveying. "Do you ever stop working?"

  Townmouse's whiskers twitched. "This isn't work. It's... interesting."

  "Is it?"

  "To me, yes."

  Roslyn smiled. "Then I believe you."

  For a moment, they just looked at each other. Townmouse seemed unsure what to do with her hands. She reached for her teacup, then set it down again without drinking.

  "Are you from around here?" Townmouse asked finally.

  "No. I've been traveling for a while." Roslyn leaned back slightly, casual. "Looking for a pce that feels right, you know?"

  "And you think Millbrook might be that pce?"

  "Maybe." Roslyn tilted her head. "I'm still deciding. It seems... peaceful. Well-organized."

  Townmouse's expression flickered with something that might have been pride. "It is. Mayor Jack has done a lot for the town in recent years."

  "That's what everyone says." Roslyn paused, then added softly, "But I'm more interested in what it's like to actually live there. Not just the statistics."

  Townmouse blinked. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean..." Roslyn chose her words carefully, letting a thread of honesty slip through the lie. "Numbers tell you one thing. But they don't tell you if people are happy. If they have friends. If they ever feel lonely."

  Townmouse went very still.

  "Do you?" Roslyn asked gently. "Feel lonely?"

  Townmouse's ears fttened slightly. She looked down at her teacup. "I'm... dedicated to my work."

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's the answer I have."

  There was something raw in Townmouse's voice. Something that made Roslyn's chest tighten in a way she hadn't expected.

  *Careful. Don't get distracted.*

  But she was distracted. By the way Townmouse's whiskers trembled slightly. By the smallness of her hands around the teacup. By the realization that this woman probably spent most of her time alone, buried in ledgers and records, never letting anyone close.

  "I think," Roslyn said quietly, "that someone like you deserves more than just work."

  Townmouse looked up sharply. Her eyes, dark and intelligent and suddenly very vulnerable, met Roslyn's.

  The air between them shifted.

  Roslyn held her gaze, letting the silence stretch. Not pushing. Just... there.

  Townmouse broke first, looking away. "I should..." She gnced at the small clock on the wall. "I need to get back to the office."

  "Of course." Roslyn started to stand.

  "I'll walk with you," she added. "It's on my way."

  It wasn't. They both probably knew that.

  Townmouse hesitated, then nodded. She gathered her things: book, gsses, a small leather satchel. Roslyn waited patiently as she fumbled with the csp.

  They left the café together.