Low saxophone notes drifted through hazy smoke as Sebastian Wilder played on the small stage, eyes half-closed, lost in the music. In the corner booth sat the rest of the Gosling-verse. Stoic figures and unlikely companions drawn together by some invisible thread of shared essence. Driver leaned back against the wall in his scorpion jacket, silent and watchful. Beside him sat Officer K, posture rigid yet curious. Holland March fidgeted with his glass, already buzzing. Colt Seavers nursed a beer with easy charm, while Ryland Grace leaned in with a grin, firing off corny science puns at Driver in an attempt to lighten the mood. Ken adjusted his sparkly jacket with dramatic flair, and Neil Armstrong observed everything with quiet, distant intensity. Ryland chuckled at his own joke and muttered that he really should tell that one to his class back home.