Ink glanced down at the scribbles on his scarf, a method he used to keep track of fleeting thoughts and important details. His memory was notoriously unreliable. Each note was a small tether to his past, a way to ground himself in the present.

As he reviewed the latest entries, he almost missed what was going on around him. He looked up, only to jump a little when he realised he was no longer alone. “Oh!”