“The barista remembers informing Mr. Thorne and his companion that the café was closing, which corroborates a detail from his email. But she said that the pink-haired woman at the table with Mr. Thorne was not you. That, in fact, you had left hours earlier.” I shake my head, the information like a riddle. “I— So. What are you saying? You think someone followed me to Sweet Bean and—pretended to be me?”
