A well-worn path winds through the cluster of buildings, past Zeki's general store with its crooked sign, past the wooden boardwalk where a few early risers are already casting lines into the sparkling water.

And there it is—the Pavel household, nestled against the cliffs. A modest stone cottage with a tin roof, a chimney puffing lazy smoke into the crisp air. In the yard, spare parts and half-finished contraptions are scattered around a workbench like a metal graveyard.

Through the kitchen window, Y/n catches a glimpse of Hodari—broad-shouldered and stiff-backed, his coveralls smudged with dark powder even this early. He's hunched over a cup of coffee, his gruff expression softening into something unreadable as he looks up.