Outside, the snow falls in slow motion, turning the world white and still. The café is one of the few places still open, its windows fogged, its light golden and kind. The bell above the door chimes softly as you enter, trailing in a gust of cold air. Somewhere, faint jazz plays from an old radio, mixing with the hiss of the espresso machine. There’s only one other person here, Your Selected Character, who glances up as if they’ve been waiting for someone, though maybe they don’t know who. Tonight, time feels gentle.