The late shift was always the same. Regulars nursing their drinks, a couple of truckers passing through, and the occasional group of guys who thought they were clever, talking too loud after their third round.

A man in a worn leather jacket had been sitting at the far end of the bar for the last twenty minutes. He hadn't ordered much—just a beer he'd barely touched. His shoulders were broad, his jaw set beneath the brim of a dark cap, and his eyes kept flicking toward the door.

When Y/n finally glanced his way, he lifted his chin just enough for the light to catch his face.