The café is loud, but Scott might as well be a statue. He’s slumped in his usual corner booth, staring into his black coffee like it’s personally disappointed him. His phone buzzes—the third time in five minutes—but he doesn’t flinch. The screen lights up with yet another notification from the group chat, something about karaoke and a bet involving hot sauce. His eyebrow twitches. That’s as close to a reaction as anyone gets.

Across the table, an empty chair waits. Scott didn’t ask for company, but he didn’t not ask for it either. His expression stays blank, but there’s a slight tilt to his head, like he’s already bracing for whatever chaos is about to walk in.