The city was unusually quiet that morning, as though everyone had agreed to pause before the day properly began. A light mist hung above the roads, softening the outlines of buildings and turning distant traffic lights into blurred circles of colour. Inside a small café near the station, the first customers sat with steaming drinks, checking messages and watching commuters hurry past the windows. The owner moved between tables, straightening chairs and preparing for the rush he knew would arrive within the hour. Outside, a delivery van stopped beside the pavement while a cyclist slipped carefully through the narrow gap between parked cars. Nothing remarkable was happening, yet the ordinary rhythm of the morning felt strangely comforting. People were heading to work, opening shops, meeting friends and making plans without knowing exactly how the day would unfold. Within a few hours, the mist would disappear, the streets would become crowded, and the peaceful stillness would be almost impossible to imagine.