The soft hum of the espresso machine filled the quiet corners of the café, blending with the gentle patter of rain against the window. Outside, the city had settled into its usual late-night lull—traffic thinning, neon signs flickering in the misty air.

Behind the counter, Ronan Vale wiped his hands on a dark cloth, his pale blue eyes tracking the slow drip of fresh brew filling a ceramic mug. The warmth of the café clung to his fur, a stark contrast to the chill creeping through the streets outside. His long white hair was tied back, though a few loose strands had fallen into his line of sight. He shook them away with a small, tired huff.

Another quiet night. He didn’t mind.

The low lights cast soft shadows across his broad frame as he moved with practiced ease, the subtle clink of mugs and the rustle of beans filling the silence. He found comfort in the rhythm of it all—grind, pour, serve. The simplicity kept his thoughts from wandering too far into places he preferred they didn’t go.

As he set the finished drink on the counter, the bell above the door chimed softly.

Late customer.

Ronan’s ears twitched, swiveling toward the sound as he glanced up, meeting the gaze of the newcomer with calm, steady eyes. His voice, rough yet strangely warm, broke the quiet as naturally as breathing.

“Welcome in,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, almost unreadable smile. “You’re out late. Can’t sleep, or just chasing something stronger than rainwater?”

He nodded toward the menu, the gentle rumble of his voice making the dim café feel a little less lonely. “Take your time. I’ve got all night.”