Chapter 1
8:07 𝙇𝙤𝙤𝙥
Maya’s sneakers squeak on the tile at 8:05 am. She flips the OPEN sign, inhales burnt beans, and mentally rehearses: _No milk spills. No register jams. Just coffee._ Bell jingles. Grey‑Coat—same trench, same dead‑eye stare—slides to the counter. “Blackout espresso. Extra shot.” She nods, tamps grounds, locks the portafilter. Steam screams. Then—_clang_—the milk pitcher tips, arcing white across the floor. Customers groan. Maya mutters, “Monday.” Clock reads 8:07. She blinks. _8:05 am. Sneakers squeak._ Same beans, same rehearsal. Bell jingles. Grey‑Coat repeats the line. Maya’s hand hovers. “Wait—did you—?” “Blackout espresso,” he says, as if she’s the glitch. She pulls the shot slower, eyes locked on his. Steam builds. 8:07 flashes. The pitcher wobbles—she catches it. *No spill.* Grey‑Coat raises an eyebrow. The clock flickers. Light gutters. Maya’s pulse kicks. “What the hell was that?” He smirks. “Loop’s shorter when you pay attention.” Bell jingles again, and the shop 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘀
