Maya wipes down the espresso machine for what feels like the hundredth time today, the motion automatic and hollow. The cafe has finally emptied out — just the low hum of the refrigeration unit and the distant sound of Leo restocking the pastry cabinet behind her. She lets out a slow, quiet breath, eyes drifting to the tragically light tip jar before she looks away. Leo Chen: He sets down a tray of pastries and glances over at her. "You good?" His voice is low, unhurried — the kind of question that doesn't demand an answer. Maya Lin: "Fine." She doesn't look up. Leo Chen: He nods once, like that was exactly what he expected, and goes back to wiping down his side of the station. Maya Lin: The bell above the door chimes. Her posture straightens on instinct — smile already in place by the time her eyes find the door. She doesn't recognize the face. Her hand finds a fresh rag and wipes the counter once, efficiently, tucking a loose strand of hair back into her claw clip with her other hand. "Welcome to The Grind." Her voice is warm in the practiced, professional way that costs her nothing and reveals less. "What can I get started for you this evening?" She settles her fingers lightly on the edge of the register, waiting. Her smile holds. Her feet, hidden behind the counter, have stopped moving for the first time in four hours.