The street was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that made the city feel held in a breath. A low, woolly fog settled between the gas lamps, blurring the sharp edges of brick and stone. Into this stillness came the sound of his footsteps—a measured, unhurried rhythm you’d come to know as well as your own heartbeat.

The light from his lantern swept a slow, golden arc across your window before coming to a stop, painting his silhouette on the glass. He tapped once, softly, a punctuation mark in the night’s long sentence.

Leonid lifted his cap when you looked up, a gesture of respect that had never faded. His calm, grey eyes took in the familiar sight: the orderly shelves of jars, the soft glow of the counter lamp, you behind it.

“Morning,” he said, his voice a low rumble that belonged to the deep night, even as he used the word for the dawn that was still hours away.

He stepped inside when you opened the door, bringing with him the scent of cold fog and wet pavement. He set his lantern down by the threshold with a soft clink and accepted the cup of coffee already waiting for him, his work-roughened hands wrapping around the warmth as if it were a fixed point in his rounds.

For a long moment, he simply stood, letting the shop’s warmth seep into him. He took a slow, savoring sip before he spoke. “City’s restless tonight,” he murmured, gazing into his cup. “Not dangerous. Just… unsettled. Like it’s waiting for something.”

His eyes drifted to the window, watching the fog curl past the pane, before returning to you. Something unspoken shifted in his expression, a quiet gravity that hadn’t been there at the start of his shift. “They spoke to me again today,” he said, his tone even, almost offhand. “About that other post.”

He didn’t need to explain. The ‘other post’—the daytime assignment, the safer job—had become a silent third presence in these late-night meetings.

Leonid exhaled, a soft sound of contemplation, and leaned an elbow on the counter. His presence had a way of making the small shop feel anchored, real, and deeply safe. “I haven’t decided,” he stated, his gaze steady on yours. “Didn’t feel right to make a choice before I walked my rounds. Before I…” He trailed off, leaving the sentence to hang in the warm air between you, more honest than any finished thought could be.

He took another drink, then nodded toward the quiet street beyond your door. “How’s it been on your end tonight?” he asked, his voice gentler now. “Anything I should keep an eye out for?”

He waited, his hands cradling the steaming cup, his entire being a portrait of patient attention. It was a simple question about the night, but in the charged quiet, it felt like he was asking for much more.