Andy jolted awake with a start, his breath sharp and uneven. Disorientation overcame him for a moment as he blinked against the harsh light from the small back-room window. The cool metal of his workbench was cold against his cheek, and he groaned as he pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes with a hand that felt heavier than it should.

  The shop was silent, save for the faint hum of machinery still running in the room’s corner. But then the memories of the night flooded back—one after another, like a flood of sparks lighting up his mind.

  The breakthrough he’d made on the bio-engineered vat project, how everything had clicked together after hours of failure, how the wiring finally made sense. It was a feeling of triumph, but also of exhaustion.

  And then there was her. Sparks. Where was she? Was she okay? It had been too long since he last seen her, gave up on searching. Is she even alive? There was so much going on, and yet, every time he tried to focus, something else seemed to take over, a constant weight on his mind.

  He stood quickly, his legs wobbly from sitting too long, and a blanket slipped from his shoulders to the floor with a soft rustle. He froze, staring at it for a moment.

  Where did this come from? His mind was still hazy from sleep, but there was one thing that was immediately clear—the blanket wasn’t his. It wasn’t the faded, patched-up one he kept for himself when the nights grew cold.

  A fleeting thought passed through him. His grandfather, Wily—had he put it there?

  Andy’s gaze shot around the room, but the back shop was empty. His grandfather wasn’t there.

  He took a hesitant step forward, rubbing his forehead, trying to shake off the grogginess. His eyes landed on the counter where their project sat—neatly arranged, just as he’d left it. But next to it was something he hadn’t noticed before—a small, folded piece of paper, its edges crisp and perfectly folded.

  Andy moved toward it, picking it up with careful fingers. He unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.

  "Good job, kid. Here’s a few shims for your food. I’ll be out late."

  A small sigh of relief escaped his lips. His grandfather always made sure he had what he needed, even when things were tight. Andy could almost hear Wily’s voice in his head, the gruff tone softened by an unspoken affection.

  Andy folded the note carefully, stuffing it in his pocket, and turned his attention back to the project.

  The room felt quieter now, emptier without his grandfather’s presence. It wasn’t unusual for Wily to be out late.

  He stepped over to the workbench and ran his fingers along the edge of the vat project.

  Andy felt his stomach growl, a sharp reminder that the hours spent hunched over the project had left him ravenous. His body protested the lack of food, and he knew there was no way he’d be able to focus or make any progress on an empty stomach. He grabbed a few of the shims his grandfather had left for him, slipping them into his pocket before turning toward the door.

  As his hand rested on the doorframe, his mind wandered. Café Rook. It wasn’t just a café—it was home, of sorts. A place where he could breathe again, away from the weight of everything else. He’d spent countless hours there. It was the one spot in the sprawling bazaar and market district that had always felt familiar, a sanctuary among the chaos.

  He’d grown up in the area, after all. His younger years, when things were simpler, shaped his memories of the district. Café Rook had been the place he’d found after that day, the first place that didn’t look at him like an outsider, like an Outer-born. When they took Bastion, pulling him into the orphanage and leaving the streets a blur of confusion and grief, Café Rook was the constant, the one safe place where Andy could get a hot meal and clear his head.

  The familiar clatter of utensils and the buzz of conversation always made it easier to forget about the harsh realities outside. It was a place where, for a while at least, he could forget his troubles.

  His eyes flicked back to the window. The city outside was as unpredictable as ever, the noise and the movement of the streets already pressing in on him, reminding him that there was no room for hesitation. It never stops, Andy thought, a tired, resigned feeling washing over him.

  But for now, he needed to recalibrate. Clear his head. Café Rook could give him that moment of peace before the next storm hit.

  He took a deep breath and pulled the door open, the cool air of the morning hitting him like a splash of cold water. His eyes scanned the streets as he stepped out, instinctively pulling his jacket tighter around himself against the biting wind. The marketplace buzzed with life—vendors shouting out their wares, the sounds of clinking metal and the distant hum of the city’s machinery blending into a familiar rhythm. It was chaotic, as always, but Andy had learned to navigate it like second nature.

  Andy’s stomach tightened as he made his way through the city. For now, he needed space to think, to breathe. The path to Café Rook was a short walk through the heart of the market district. It wasn’t far, but each step felt heavier with the weight of his thoughts, the city pressing in on him from all sides. And yet, as he neared the familiar entrance of the café, the world seemed to quiet, just for a moment.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Andy pushed open the door to Café Rook, the familiar chime of the bell above it signaling his arrival. The warmth inside hit him like a wave, a welcome contrast to the chill of the city streets. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the faint aroma of sizzling food, and for the briefest moment, Andy felt his shoulders loosen, his racing thoughts settling.

  The café was busy, but not overwhelming. It was the place that had a quiet hum to it, where the voices and laughter blended together in the background, familiar and comforting. His eyes instinctively searched the room, landing on the counter where Lana was moving behind the register, wiping down the surface and filling orders.

  Lana had been working here for as long as Andy could remember. Andy had known her since their days running through the alleys and markets together, back before things got complicated. Now, even though they didn’t talk as much as they used to, seeing Lana felt like seeing a piece of his past that hadn’t changed, no matter how much everything around them had.

  She had tied her long, dark hair up in a messy bun, although a few loose strands always escaped, framing her face as if by design.

  As Andy stepped further into the café, Lana looked up, her gaze landing on him almost immediately. A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes, followed by a smile that always seemed to warm the space between them.

  "Well, look who finally showed up," she said with a playful lilt in her voice, leaning against the counter as she wiped her hands on the apron she wore. "Thought you might’ve gotten lost out there in the chaos."

  Andy returned her smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. "You know me, Lana. I’m never late by choice. Just got caught up in a few things."

  Her eyes briefly flickered to his face, like she was reading something in his expression, but then she turned back to the coffee machine, expertly pulling a shot of espresso with practiced ease.

  "Sure, sure," she said, the teasing tone still in her voice, but there was a softness now, a hint of something that made her words feel like more than just casual chatter. "You stayed up all night again, didn’t you? You need to take a breather sometime, Andy."

  He let out a small chuckle, leaning against the counter as she set the espresso down in front of him. "I’m getting there. Just need to fuel up first."

  Lana raised an eyebrow, eyeing him like she didn’t quite believe him. "Fueling up’s good, but you know it’s not just your stomach that needs attention, right?"

  Andy shifted uncomfortably, unsure if she was talking about the usual things—projects, pressure, the chaos of the city—or if she could see right through him. She was good at that, after all.

  "Yeah," he muttered, suddenly feeling the weight of the night on his shoulders again. "It’s just… things have been a little intense lately. Trying to keep it all together."

  Lana gave him a knowing look, her expression softening. She didn’t push him, but her silence spoke volumes. She always knew when to let him speak and when to leave him to sort things out on his own. The silence stretched between them for a moment, and then she smiled again, this time a little less teasing, a little more reassuring.

  "Well, you’ve got the right place to take a breather. And, hey," she added, sliding a small plate with a pastry toward him, "I’ve got you covered on breakfast today. My treat. You look like you need it."

  Andy’s gaze flickered down to the pastry, the warm comfort of it almost making him forget the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. But the sense of gratitude he felt for Lana—her constant presence, her quiet understanding—made him pause.

  "Thanks, Lana. You don’t have to."

  She shrugged, leaning back against the counter, but her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than usual. "It’s nothing. Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you actually eat something other than whatever scraps you’re grabbing on the run."

  "I’ll be fine," he breathed, but there was something in his tone that made her hold his gaze a little longer, like she could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced.

  She nodded, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "You know where to find me if you need a break from all that ‘fine.’"

  Andy smiled and took a slow, deep breath. The café was bustling around him, the world outside still as chaotic as ever. But here, with Lana’s quiet presence, it felt a little easier to breathe, if only for a moment.

  Andy reached into his pocket, pulling out a few shims and sliding them across the counter to Lana before she could even ask. "I’ll pay for both today," he said, his tone more serious than usual. "For the coffee yesterday, and for the meal today. You know I can’t leave debts unpaid."

  Lana raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t argue. She just took the shims and gave him a half-smile, as if she understood something he wasn’t saying out loud. The way her lips curved in that soft, knowing smile stirred something in Andy that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  He hated the feeling—this quiet, unspoken thing between them that had always been there, but which he couldn’t seem to define. Yet somehow, with Lana, it felt like it didn’t need to be defined. Not yet.

  Andy couldn’t help it—he always had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind. The people who’d helped him, from Lana to the countless others who had been there when he needed them, piled up in a running tally that never stopped counting. The weight of it was always there, pressing down on him. Sometimes it felt like a burden, the constant reminder that he owed something to everyone who had ever offered a hand, no matter how small. It was as if he couldn’t quite catch up, like his life was a series of debts waiting to be repaid.

  He hated the feeling. It was all he could think about sometimes—this need to unload it all, to finally feel free of the constant reminder that his survival had never been entirely his own doing. It was something he’d never spoken of, not even to his grandfather. But one day, he hoped he could finally pay back every single one of those debts. The people who had been there when no one else was.

  With the matter settled, he slid into a booth by the window, keeping his eyes on the café around him as he waited for his meal. The morning sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows on the wooden floors. The sounds of conversation, the clink of dishes, and the low hum of the coffee machine all made the café feel like the one place in the city where time could stand still for just a moment.

  He exhaled slowly, letting himself sink into the rare stillness. Outside, the world moved with its usual restless energy—workers setting up stalls, distant engines humming, the occasional static of a security announcement crackling through the air. But inside the café, it was different. The air smelled of fresh coffee and warm bread, a stark contrast to the metallic bite of the city beyond the door.

  A small cup landed on his table with a soft clink, interrupting his thoughts. Andy glanced up to see Lana standing there, a smirk playing at the edges of her lips. “You look like someone about to start a fight with his own thoughts,” she said. "Try coffee first. Brooding second."

  Andy huffed a quiet chuckle, but didn’t argue. He wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic of the cup, letting the heat sink into his palms. He wasn’t sure if it was the coffee, the quiet hum of the café, or just the simple act of pausing for a moment, but for the first time in a while, the weight pressing on his shoulders felt just a little lighter.

  Even if it was just for now.