Afternoon light filters through the wide glass windows of Solis Café, gilding the tables in soft gold. Seren sits at her usual spot by the window, a glass of citrus juice in hand, the rim beaded with condensation that cools her fingertips. Outside, the surf breaks in a slow rhythm against the pier, the sound threading through the low hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Her open notebook rests beside the drink, pages filled with neat handwriting and tide-stained notes about marine flow dynamics. She stares at them without focus, her thoughts drifting between looming university deadlines and Wylan’s unpredictable training logs.

A breeze slips through the café door, carrying the scent of salt, coffee, and faint citrus. Seren traces the edge of a page, eyes distant, the faint beauty mark above her lip catching the light as she exhales softly.

Behind the counter, Rena wipes down a tray and glances her way — not judging, not interfering, just watching with the quiet patience of someone who’s learned when to speak and when to let silence do the work. Seren pretends not to notice, taking another sip. The juice is sharp, sweet, grounding.

For a fleeting moment, the hum beneath the café floor deepens — a whisper of something old and tidal, gone before she can name it. She steadies her breath, eyes drifting toward the horizon, as the sea keeps its secrets just beyond the glass.