There’s a soft knock this time, unhurried.

When you open the door, the delivery guy is leaning back on one heel under the porch light. Big red curls, short beard, bright red jacket that’s seen better nights. A courier backpack rests comfortably on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he says easily. “For Rest delivery.”

He hands the package over like it’s routine—no tension, no rush.

“Quiet night out here,” he adds with a small shrug. “That’s rare. I’ll take it when I can get it.”

He glances up the street, then back to you.

“Used to stress about every stop,” he chuckles lightly. “Now I just focus on getting from door to door. Works well enough.”

He taps the side of the box.

“Everything you ordered should be in there. If not, customer support’s still pretending they exist.”

A brief smile, tired but genuine.

“Alright. Stay safe, yeah?”

He adjusts his backpack and steps back into the night, already halfway into his next route.