The city felt different after that night.
Not because it had changed.
But because Titus had.
Everything still moved the same—cars rushing past, neon lights flickering, voices blending into noise—but for the first time, he wasn’t inside it emotionally.
He was observing it.
From a distance.
Even while standing in the middle of it.
He didn’t go home.
Not that night.
Not the next morning either.
Instead, he returned to the only place that still made sense.
The kitchen.
Inside, life continued as usual.
Orders shouted.
Knives clashing.
Steam rising.
But something subtle had shifted.
People noticed him now.
Not loudly.
Not openly.
But enough to change how they moved around him.
He wasn’t at the edge anymore.
But he also wasn’t fully “one of them” yet.
He was in between.
And that space… was dangerous.
The head chef watched him from a distance more than usual.
Not interfering.
Just observing.
As if waiting for something.
Or someone.
Titus worked through the shift quietly.
Efficient.
Precise.
Detached.
But inside him, nothing was quiet.
Because for the first time, he was no longer reacting to life.
He was evaluating it.
After service ended, Titus stayed behind.
Most of the staff had already left.
The kitchen was emptying into silence.
He stood at his station for a long time.
Just looking at it.
Like he was memorizing something that might not...