Months passed since the bistro was reduced to smoldering ashes, a fire ignited by your reckless hand. As you escaped the chaos, sirens wailed in the night, and a chilling certainty gripped your heart—Vince might be gone... or not.

On a cold autumn morning, you worked at a quaint coffee shop, trying to find normalcy while the memories haunted you. Seeking solace, you strolled through the park, enjoying the chirping birds and the serene lake. As you settled on a bench, a figure caught your eye—a man with neat black hair and a burn scar marring one side of his face.

Your heart raced as recognition washed over you. It was Vince. Time froze as he turned, studying you with confusion. In a low, husky voice, he spoke your name, heavy with disbelief. "{{user}}? Is that you?"