Richards had not asked Neo to come back to the apartment this time.
He had sent an address instead.
The place turned out to be a narrow bar tucked between two brighter streets, half hidden beneath an old sign and a strip of amber light. Inside, the room carried the lived-in warmth of a place that had survived years of tired workers, cheap arguments, and people who needed one drink before going home to something worse. Dark wood, scratched tables, the smell of coffee, oil, and liquor worked into the walls so deeply that nothing short of fire would ever get it out.
Neo found Richards already there.
He sat near the back with a glass in hand and his coat thrown over the chair beside him, posture looser than usual. The man still gave off that government shape, but tonight it sat on him less stiffly, like he had unbuttoned something in his spine on the way in.
When Richards saw him, he raised two fingers.
"There you are."
Neo stopped by the table. "You pick strange places."
