The streets of Toon City buzzed with a strange kind of life—half nostalgia, half decay. Neon signs flickered above cracked sidewalks, and the air smelled faintly of ink and roasted peanuts. After days of travel, the Questers finally stepped into the heart of the city, their boots heavy with dust and their spirits worn thin.

They found it tucked between a shuttered theater and a pawn shop: The Inkwell Café—a cozy, dimly lit diner with checkered floors, jazz humming from a dusty jukebox, and the warm scent of coffee and pie curling through the air.

Boris pushed the door open, the bell above it jingling softly. “Smells like heaven,” he muttered, tail wagging faintly.

Inside, the café was a time capsule. Toons of all shapes and eras sat in booths—some chatting, some silent, some barely holding themselves together. A tired-looking waitress with rubber hose arms gave them a nod and gestured to an empty booth near the window.

Bendy slumped into the seat with a groan, his inky aura flickering faintly. “If I melt into this cushion, don’t come looking for me.”

Cuphead plopped down across from him, tipping his straw hat back. “You melt, I’m drinking your milkshake.”

Felix chuckled, sliding into the booth beside Boris. “Let’s just enjoy five minutes without being chased, cursed, or nearly crushed.”

As mugs clinked and menus unfolded, the group allowed themselves—for the first time in days—to breathe. Outside, the city pulsed with danger. But inside the Inkwell Café, for just a moment, they were safe. Just toons, sharing a booth, a laugh, and a little hope.