The morning began like it had forgotten what storms felt like.

Sunlight spilled through the front windows of Navarro Coffee, painting streaks of gold across tables still glistening from the night’s humidity. Steam rose from the first batch of brewed beans, curling upward like ghosts refusing to leave.

Celine moved more slowly than usual. Her hands worked automatically — scooping, tamping, pouring — but her thoughts were far away.

She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, ...