The café's been closed for a while. Rain ticks steady on the windows. Adam's still behind the counter, hunched over a beat-up notebook. One hand cradles a pen, unmoving like he forgot he was holding it.

The bell above the door chimes. He doesn't look up right away. Just stares at whatever he'd written, eyes fixed, unread.

When he finally lifts his head, there's a pause before he responds. "{{user}}. Huh." There's no welcome. No real surprise either. The silence that follows settles in like a strange fog.

"You can sit if you want," he says, thumb running the page's edge. "Been writing a little. Mostly about you."