The aroma of dark roast and warm pastries hung heavy in the air of "The Daily Grind," Elias Rook's sanctuary. It was his usual corner booth with Hawk sitting across from him, the one overlooking the bustling street of San Antonio but far enough from the counter for a semblance of peace.

His gaze, calm and deep, scanned the faces around him, a professional habit honed by years of assessing situations for potential hazards. No obvious fire risks today, just the gentle hum of conversation and the clatter of ceramic. He took a slow sip of his black coffee, the rich bitterness a familiar comfort against the slight ache of the burn scar in his left arm – a phantom reminder of heat and failure.

The bell above the door chimed, announcing a new arrival. Eli barely registered it, focused on the sports section of the morning paper. Then, a sudden chill, a prickle of unease, ran down his spine, unrelated to the coffee's temperature. His eyes, instinctively drawn, lifted from the page.

Standing at the counter was a figure with the same delicate curve of the neck, the sweep of hair, the way they held themselves, even the subtle curve of their back as they ordered – it was an almost perfect echo.

Eli’s breath hitched. A cold sweat beaded on his brow. The newspaper slipped from his grasp, landing with a soft thud on the worn table.

It was her. The college girl. The one he couldn't save. The one whose face haunted his nightmares.

Except, it wasn't. It couldn't be. Six years. Six long years since the inferno at the dorms. Six years of nightmares, of that face haunting his sleep, and now... now it was here, in the flesh. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of his internal shock. The air in the coffee shop seemed to thicken, pressing in on him.

He felt the familiar knot in his stomach, the one that tightened every time the memory of that dorm fire surfaced. The screams, the smoke, the desperate scramble, and then... nothing but ashes and the crushing weight of a life he couldn't save. And now, this. The uncanny resemblance was so striking, so profound, it stole the air from his lungs.

His gaze lingered on the figure, a mixture of profound shock and an unexpected, unsettling pull. It was like seeing a ghost, a living, breathing testament to his greatest failure. Yet, there was also a nascent spark, a desire, a protective instinct he hadn't felt in years, stirring within him. He found himself wanting to reach out, to ensure this person, this living echo, was real, was safe.

"Eli! You’re just gonna sit there all day or you gonna finish your coffee, you old timer?" The booming voice of Hawthorne "Hawk" Calder cut through Elias’s mental fog. Hawk, all brawn and good humor, clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Elias spill his drink. "What’s got you looking like you just saw a ghost, huh? Another nightmare?"

Elias grunted, sipping his coffee. "Something like that, Hawk," he muttered, his eyes still fixed on the figure at the counter. His gaze traced their profile, the subtle movements. Every detail screamed familiarity, yet screamed impossibility.

The barista, a young woman with a bright pink streak in her hair named Chloe, called out, "Order up!" Her voice was cheerful, oblivious to the silent drama unfolding at Eli's table. She placed a steaming mug on the counter.

Hawk followed his gaze, a slight frown creasing his usually jovial face. "Woah. You okay, man? You’re staring like you’ve lost your mind. Who is that, a new crush?" He nudged Elias playfully, oblivious to the turmoil raging within his best friend.

Elias ignored the jab. "She... she looks like someone I knew," he finally managed, his voice a low rumble. He couldn't tear his eyes away. A powerful, protective instinct, raw and almost primal, surged through him. He failed once. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let anything happen to this person. The thought was a silent vow, etched into his very being. The scar on his left arm, usually an unheeded reminder, throbbed with a dull ache.

"Someone you knew, huh?" Hawk mused, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Well, whoever she is, she’s got you all rattled. Never seen you this quiet about a pretty face."

The figure at the counter gave a slight, polite nod to the barista, a quiet murmur of thanks, then reached for the mug, their fingers brushing against the ceramic before stepping away from the counter, eyes scanning the tables for an open spot.

Eli watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as they slowly began to move in his direction, their eyes eventually meeting his. For a split second, an eternity, their gaze held his. His mind raced, a whirlwind of memories, guilt, and a terrifying, exhilarating recognition. He felt a sudden, inexplicable need to shield them, to ensure their safety, a fierce determination blossoming in his chest, overshadowing the lingering ghost of his past. He wouldn't fail again.

A wave of heat, not from a fire, but from an internal furnace, spread through his chest. He felt his jaw tighten, his muscles tense. He wanted to look away, to break the connection, but he couldn't. It was like being caught in a tractor beam, pulled relentlessly towards a past he desperately wanted to forget, yet a future he suddenly, inexplicably, yearned to protect.

He had to be dreaming. This wasn't real. But the warmth of the coffee cup in his hand, the distant rumble of city traffic. This was real. And it was walking straight towards him.