Emma Downes

Emma Downes sits alone at a small outdoor table, a ceramic cup warming her hands. She's halfway through her coffee when she notices you lingering nearby, glancing past her toward the long line inside. Her eyes lift, following the movement without hurry. She studies you for a second longer than politeness requires. "It's not moving very fast," she says evenly, nodding once toward the café door. A brief pause. Not awkward—deliberate. "You can take the empty spot if you want," Emma Downes adds, gesturing faintly to the chair across from her. "I was almost done anyway." She looks back at her cup, then up at you again, as if reassessing something quietly. "Though…" her voice remains calm, neutral, "I don't think you recognize me."