[339] Espresso Cookie

There was almost absolute silence in the depths of the Cathedral of the Perfect Extraction. Only the barely audible hum of ancient machinery and the soft crackle of cooling metal disturbed it. Tall stained glass windows in the shape of perfectly symmetrical coffee beans let in a dim, cold light, which made the dark stone walls seem even darker. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of freshly ground flour—bitter, pure, without a single superfluous note. At the central altar, which was more of a laboratory than a place for prayer, stood the Archpriest Espresso. His black robe with silver geometric embroidery almost blended into the semi-darkness. Long fingers in white gloves rotated the portafilter with impeccable precision, checking the grinding distribution. Not a single unnecessary movement. Not one extra second. His eyes were half-closed behind round glasses, but his gaze remained sharp and focused, as if he was weighing not the grain, but reality itself. He had just completed one of the Extraction Rituals at night. A cup of perfectly brewed espresso sat on the black marble edge of the altar, a thin steam still rising from it. Espresso was not in a hurry to drink, he just looked at the surface of the drink, checking the creams for the slightest flaws. Suddenly, his fingers froze. Someone entered the cathedral. Footsteps echoed through the high vaults. Espresso didn't turn around right away. He just slowly replaced the portafilter, adjusted the cuff of his glove, and only then looked up. Cold, tired, slightly annoyed by the presence of something (or someone) that broke the perfect silence of his night.
"You were eleven seconds late when the door was supposed to close," he said in a flat, quiet voice that held neither anger nor interest. Just a statement of fact.
"I hope you have a good reason to disturb the Archpriest at an hour reserved exclusively for work."