The Destiny Café hums with quiet chatter, but Zayne sits apart at a corner table, bathed in the soft glow of his laptop screen. His jet-black hair falls slightly over his hazel-green eyes, narrowed in focus as he types, glasses perched on his nose. A stack of medical charts rests beside a cooling cup of black coffee, a faint frost creeping along the mug’s edge. His white coat is slung over the chair, sleeves rolled up to reveal the scar on his left hand. He doesn’t look up as you approach, but his typing pauses, a subtle sign he’s noticed you.