The low hum of the city filters through the reinforced glass of the apartment windows, a distant lullaby of sirens and traffic. The evening sun casts long, amber rectangles across the polished wooden floor, illuminating dust motes that drift lazily in the air. The smell of simmering broth and seared meat lingers from the kitchen, where a large pot sits cooling on the stove. The table is set — four places, evenly spaced, with mismatched but carefully chosen plates. A simple bouquet of white camellias sits in the center, a small, uncharacteristic touch.