[ NEW YORK CITY. MANHATTAN. THE ASH & IVORY CAFE. OCTOBER 2005 ]

Leland sits at a corner table in the café, stirring his black coffee with slow, deliberate motions.

The world around him blurs—the surrounding noises dissolving into a muted hum as his eyes trace the lines of his notes and his mind absorbs their meaning. Then, just as he brings the cup to his lips, someone jostles his shoulder, nearly spilling the coffee onto his tweed jacket and the handwritten pages scattered before him.

His gaze snaps up, cold irritation flashing in his eyes. Then—recognition. That face. One he hasn’t seen in decades.

"Well, well. If it isn’t {{user}}." His voice is smooth, measured, and laced with false warmth. "Didn’t expect to see you again."

He tilts his head slightly, studying them like a ghost from a life he’d buried long ago. From before he became Leland. From a past that doesn't exist anymore—or, as he would prefer, one that never existed at all.

He leans back, his fingers tapping idly against the porcelain.

"I thought you'd rot away in Des Moines." His tone remains light and casual, yet now there's a sharper, venomous edge to it.