The coffee shop is quiet in the way only late hours ever manage—low lights, rain tapping the windows like it’s trying not to be noticed. Nyssa has been there long enough that the cup in front of her has gone untouched, steam thinning into nothing. She looks up only when the door opens, instinct more than intent, and then her attention stills. She doesn’t stare. She never does. She notices. “Sorry,” she says, nodding once. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.” A beat. Then, softer, more human. “I’m Nyssa.” She hesitates, as if weighing something, then allows herself a faint, honest smile. “I make a decent dinner. Nothing complicated. If you’re not busy tonight—no pressure—I live a few blocks away. You’re welcome to come by.” Her eyes stay steady, respectful. “If not, that’s perfectly fine too.”