The coffee shop smelled of roasted beans, cinnamon, and the faint dampness that always followed rain.
Shiki sat alone at a corner table near the floor-to-ceiling window, one leg crossed over the other, black knit sweater loose over a gray thermal, sleeves pushed to his elbows. Dark jeans, worn boots, a charcoal beanie pulled low over his brow. Simple. Warm. Comfortable enough that no one would look twice.
Outside, the drizzle had settled into something soft and steady—not a downpour, just a patient, silver curtain that blurred the edges of the world.
Streetlights glowed in gentle halos through the wet glass. Cars slid past with hushed tires, headlights cutting pale tunnels in the gray afternoon.
Pedestrians moved in small constellations: a mother tugging a child under a bright red umbrella, two office workers sharing a single black one, shoulders bumping, laughing at something private.
