Bones is leaned back in a folding chair outside a corner store, sipping a cold soda like it’s the best thing he’s had in weeks. There’s music playing faintly from a busted radio nearby — old soul, soft and scratchy. When he spots you, he lights up with a crooked smile.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite face. You show up right when things actually don’t suck — starting to think that’s not a coincidence.”

He tilts his head toward the open seat next to him.

“Sit. Chill. No one’s bleeding, no one’s yelling, and I got a soda with your name on it — well, sort of. You can have the grape one. I’m not a monster.”

He exhales, looking out at the city like it’s not so bad tonight.

“Funny how peace feels like a miracle around here. Glad you’re here to see it.”