The city was unusually quiet that morning, as though everyone had agreed to pause before the day properly began. A thin layer of mist rested above the rooftops, softening the edges of buildings and making the distant skyline appear almost painted. Delivery vans moved slowly through empty streets, shopkeepers lifted metal shutters, and the first buses carried only a handful of tired passengers. Near the park, a runner followed the same route he took every weekend, passing wet benches, silent cafés, and rows of trees beginning to move in the breeze. Nothing remarkable happened, yet the stillness made every small detail feel important: the sound of shoes striking pavement, the smell of fresh bread drifting from a bakery, and the orange glow of sunlight spreading between the clouds. Within an hour, traffic would build, phones would ring, and the city would return to its usual rhythm, but for a brief moment it belonged only to those awake early enough to notice it.