Pat’s Coffee Shop was an unassuming little gem that Max had taken me to once, labeling it a "date" with a touch of irony. To be honest, it was the only option that fit his budget.

  The place was surprisingly quiet, with just a handful of customers scattered at tables, their muted conversations forming a gentle hum in the background. Behind the counter, Pat was diligently taking orders, while two waitresses idly chatted by the register, seemingly counting down the minutes until their shifts ended.

  I settled into a booth beside a vintage jukebox, its colorful buttons gleaming softly in the dim light. The faint sound of a classic tune occasionally escaped from its speakers, creating an ambiance that was both nostalgic and comforting.

  Soon enough, one of the waitresses approached my table with a bright smile. “Hi, you’re Max’s friend, right? How is he? We haven't seen him in days—I hope everything’s okay. Anyway, what can I get you?” Her voice bubbled with energy, a stark contrast to the serene atmosphere.

  “Just a coffee,” I replied, grateful for the simple request.

  With a nod, the waitress poured a steaming cup of coffee, the dark liquid swirling with inviting warmth. After placing it in front of me, she returned to her duties, and I was left with my thoughts, watching the cars glide by outside, the anticipation of Rodrigo’s arrival mixing with the caffeinated aroma around me.

  Minutes slipped away like grains of sand until an older gentleman stepped through the door of the coffee shop. His gelled black hair glimmered under the flickering fluorescent lights, and his sharp features suggested a life well-lived, yet burdened. He scanned the room until his gaze locked onto me, and with an air of determination, he strode over to my table and settled into the seat across from me, the faint creak of the chair punctuating the moment.

  “How much?” he asked, his voice steady yet tinged with urgency.

  “Well, that depends on what you want me to do,” I replied, leaning back slightly, assessing the man before me.

  “I need you to find out what happened to my beloved M?nica. Even if she’s dead, I just want some closure on what happened,” he pleaded, his eyes glistening with an unspoken pain.

  I took a leisurely sip of my bitter coffee. “Alright, but if I take this gig, I expect payment upfront, and second, I do things my way.”

  A flicker of relief crossed Rodrigo’s face, and a faint smile emerged from the corners of his mouth. “That’s fine. What’s your price?” he inquired, his voice more assured now.

  “Forty-five grand! No negotiations,” I replied.

  Rodrigo nodded, swallowing hard but accepting the offer without hesitation. “I’ll head to the nearest ATM and get you your money,” he stated, determination returning to his posture.

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  I polished off the remaining coffee as I gestured for him to share everything.

  “The police wouldn’t disclose much; all I got were vague reassurances—‘We’re doing our best’ and ‘We’ve got a lot on our plate right now,’” he explained, frustration evident in his furrowed brow. “What little they did manage to share was that my beloved M?nica is missing. No leads, no sightings. But I know they’re not being truthful. There has to be someone in this city who knows more than what they’re saying.”

  There was someone who did know what happened to M?nica, and he already had a lot of explaining to do.

  After our conversation, we headed to the nearest ATM, where Rodrigo, visibly anxious, withdrew the forty-five thousand I had requested. He handed over the cash, counting each crisp bill to ensure he had met my demand.

  “Once you find out what happened to M?nica, please call me. I’ll be in Night City for a few days,” he said, his voice a mixture of hope and despair as he glanced back toward me.

  Rodrigo then climbed into his car and drove off, the brake lights glowing a dull red as he disappeared.

  Max was already busy handling the task I had assigned him, so it made sense for me to wrap up the job he handed over to me earlier.

  If I wanted to discover who this Michael Graves was, my best bet was to reach out to an old fixer I knew. With a quick breath, I dialed his number.

  “Ah, if it isn’t Miss Eva,” came the gruff voice on the other end. “What did El Capitán do for you this time?”

  “What can you tell me about a man with the last name Graves?” I pressed.

  He chuckled, a sound that echoed with knowing. “My dear, Graves is a name that only a select few even whisper. If you’re looking to dig deeper, you’d better speak to Connors. You know where to find him.”

  Before I could respond, the line went dead.

  Max had always warned me about Reese and his shady reputation; he insisted the man was someone who could never be fully trusted. Nevertheless, I made my way to Afterlife.

  Spotting Reese, he stood with a phone pressed to his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration. I waited patiently for him to finish his conversation before approaching.

  “Connors. We need to talk,” I said, my voice low but firm.

  Reese turned to me, a mixture of surprise and skepticism crossing his features. “What do you want, Eva? You usually don’t seek help from me. This must be serious.”

  “Tell me what you know about Graves,” I demanded, my interest piqued.

  Reese glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “Keep your voice down... Follow me,” he replied, and I felt a sense of urgency in his tone.

  He led me through a dimly lit corridor, away from the pulsating beat of the bar. The music faded, replaced by the muffled sounds of distant laughter. Once we reached a secluded booth, he leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “How did you hear that name!?” He pressed, his intensity palpable.

  I remained silent, weighing my words carefully.

  “I mean it, Eva! You need to tell me! Was it him? Was it Carver?” His eyes were darting now, revealing just how on edge he was.

  “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Why? Is he someone who operates in the shadows?” I countered, trying to gauge his reaction.

  A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, but then a sly smirk crept into his demeanor. “If you want to know who he is, you’ll have to do a little job for me first.”