The café opened to a gray morning. Celine moved quietly behind the counter, hands steady though her thoughts weren’t. She polished the espresso machine until its chrome gleamed, but the shine only betrayed her unease. Her reflection stared back at her—familiar yet unsettled, eyes just a fraction too slow to blink when she did. She exhaled sharply, muttering, “I need more sleep,” and forced herself to look away.

Marites arrived soon after, arms full of supplies as though nothing had ...