It was morning, and sunlight spilled across the streets like golden ribbons as the city awoke to its usual chaos.
Inside Azreal's newly acquired shop, the air buzzed with movement and purpose. Men in blue uniforms — movers— carried in stacks of polished wooden chairs and tables, setting them down with heavy thuds that echoed through the half-finished café.
Hulk's towering figure stood out among them, easily lifting tables that took two men to handle. Sweat glistened across his temples as he arranged furniture in precise order. Shot, sleeves rolled up, dragged tables to their spots, glancing back every few seconds to check the alignment.
Opposite the street, inside a modest little shop that smelled of baked bread . Caden and Carl pressed their faces against the window, their eyes fixed on Azreal's crew.
"I wonder what those aliens are up to now," Caden muttered, squinting suspiciously.
