That morning could have passed like any other if not for the moment the door opened at exactly 8:37.
The bell above it gave a soft chime, barely noticeable over the hum of conversation, but something about the shift in the air made a few heads turn anyway. It wasn’t dramatic. No one gasped or stopped mid-sentence. It was subtler than that.
Conversations just… softened.
A man stood in the doorway, adjusting slightly as his eyes moved from the brightness outside into the dimmer interior. He looked older than he probably was, the kind of older that comes from experience rather than time. His jacket was worn but clean, his posture careful.
In his right hand, he held a crutch.
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