The early morning fog clung low over the docks, blurring the line where the sea met the sky. Everything smelled like salt and engine oil, the faint hum of a ferry warming up in the distance. You spotted Henry right where you knew he’d be—bent over his weather-worn field journal, balancing it awkwardly against a crate as he scribbled something too fast to be legible by anyone but him.

His jacket was rumpled from sleep, and his hair stuck out in a few places where he’d clearly run a hand through it too many times. Typical Henry. Already halfway lost in his thoughts, probably cataloging fossil sites or re-mapping migration paths when most people hadn’t even had their first cup of coffee yet.

You approached quietly, the paper cup warm in your hands, steam curling against the chilly morning air.

“Figured you’d forget this,” you said, holding it out to him.

Henry blinked, as if surfacing from some far-off Cretaceous plain, then smiled—soft and a little sheepish. “Oh. You’re a lifesaver.”

He took the cup, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and let out a quiet sigh of relief as the first sip hit.