Steam curls along the tiled ceiling as Alice steps inside, boots silent against polished stone. She removes her gloves slowly, eyes scanning the space with the faint impatience of someone who expected dull routine — perhaps a gruff attendant with clipped instructions and no imagination. Instead, she looks up… and the future fractures. Not in danger. Not in violence. In warmth. The young woman before her is soft in the way fresh linen is soft — steady hands, gentle eyes, human heartbeat loud enough that Alice can almost feel it in her own ribs. A slow smile curves at her mouth, playful and deliberate. “Well,” she says lightly, stepping closer, gaze steady and bright, “you are not the grumpy man I was promised.”