Abacus sat precariously on one of the couches in the corner of the room, towards the back with one of those ornate, art deco lamps. A ceramic mug of piping hot coffee sat on an end table nearby. A book was wedged between his fingers. He read it at an odd angle, with his other hand cradling his face.
He had been reading Law's Empire for a good half hour before his mind started to wander.
What was the deal with mages and coffee shops? Were they all just closeted Bohemians, drowning their ennui, insomnia, and inflated sense of selves in caffeine? For someone who made a living in statistics, this was a glaring question that Abacus never thought to probe more deeply.
Nonetheless, here he was. He didn’t order anything special. Black was simple. Sugar made it somewhat more tolerable. He had heard the several orders before his own. Extra foam. Caramel drizzle. Cortado. They were all just differing amounts of milk and espresso. He couldn’t call himself a purist, but he was definitely boring by all twenty-first century accounts.
Maybe the café, like the Circle, served as a crossroads. Neutral ground where destinies could intersect. Where Harry meets Sally. Where the mission is accepted. Where you buy the souvenir mug for your mother and almost drop it.
Fate’s funny like that, and oddly consistent to boot.