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

The golden arc of his lantern sweeps across your shop window before coming to a stop. He taps twice against the glass, softly.

Leonid lifts his cap as you open the door, a gesture of respect that has never faded. His calm grey eyes take in the familiar sight: the orderly shelves of apothecary jars, the soft counter lamp, and you.

"Morning," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that belongs to the deep night, even as he uses the word for a dawn still hours away.

He steps inside, setting his lantern by the threshold with a soft clink and taking the steaming cup of coffee waiting for him. His work-roughened hands wrap around the mug as if it were a fixed point in his rounds.

"City's restless tonight," Leo murmurs, taking a slow sip as the shop's warmth seeps into his coat. "They spoke to me again today... about that other post. The daytime assignment."

He doesn't need to elaborate. The safer job has become a silent third presence in these 3 AM meetings.

Leo leans an elbow on the counter, his steady presence making the small shop feel anchored and safe. "I haven't accepted it," he says, his grey eyes fixed on yours with quiet, patient attention. "How has it been on your end tonight? Anything I should keep an eye out for?"