The smell of fried eggs and toasted millet lingered in the air.
Morning light filtered through the windows, soft and pale, brushing the wooden floor like a whisper.
Billy stood at the counter slicing fruit while Artur handed out plates.
At the table, Mr. Dand sat already spooning honey into his tea with slow, distracted movements.
They hovered around the table in that quiet rhythm unique to early hours — the kind of silence no one feels the need to break.
Billy sipped water, glancing outside. "Sky's clear this morning."
"Mhm," Artur replied through a mouthful of yam. "Feels like it'll stay that way."
Mr. Dand grunted softly and stirred his tea again — still without sipping. His brows were knit like he was listening to something far off.
"Something wrong?" Billy asked.
"Hm?" Mr. Dand blinked, finally tasting his tea. "Oh. No, no. Just thinking."
Artur raised a brow. "Thinking about what?"
