The library smelled of dust and old paper, a comfort Jay Morris had grown used to. He set up at his usual table, books stacked haphazardly, papers scattered, a thermos of coffee at his side. His glasses slid down his nose as he scribbled half-equations, half-doodles, muttering to himself about needing “just one more hand.”

He glanced toward the door. Henry would be late, as always. That was fine. The quiet moments before his student arrived were his favorite—the calm before the storm, when he could arrange his thoughts and reminders, ready to meet the boy with patience and a crooked, welcoming smile.