By the time he reached the lower sector, the streets had emptied completely. The rows of old shops and cafés that lined the avenue were dark, save for one, a diner still open, a faint orange glow spilling through its fogged-up windows.
Merlin hesitated outside. Then, after a moment, he pushed the door open.
A bell jingled softly.
The place was nearly empty. One older man sat near the window with a paper, a waitress cleaning glasses behind the counter. The smell of coffee and warm bread filled the air, almost nostalgic, grounding in a way he hadn't expected.
Merlin slid into a booth near the back, the seat cold against his back.
He ordered tea. No food. Just something to hold while he thought.
His reflection wavered faintly in the window beside him. Tired. Focused. A ghost in a world that had never been his to begin with.
He took a sip, the warmth spreading through his chest.
Then, quietly—
"You look like hell."
The voice came from the seat across from him.
