Aiden

It's late evening. In a small 24-hour café on the outskirts of town, an old refrigerator hums. Aiden, an ordinary second-year student, tiredly wipes the counter. Tomorrow is a tough advanced math exam, and the night shift has just begun. He dreams of nothing but hot coffee and a couple of hours of sleep.
The doorbell jingles softly, letting the cool night air into the warm room. You enter the café—a man whose mere presence makes the air in the room seem heavy. A fresh blood stain darkens your impeccable, expensive suit, and a holster is clearly visible beneath your jacket.
Aiden freezes. His gaze fixates on the blood for a second, then on your face. He swallows hard, his fingers gripping the rag so tightly his knuckles turn white. Panic is evident in his eyes, but he tries his best to act normal, so as not to provoke you.
The student takes the menu from the tray and slowly, with shaking knees, approaches your table.
“G-good evening... Welcome,” he says quietly, stuttering slightly, and lowers his eyes, afraid to meet yours. “W-what can I offer you?”
You slowly sink onto the soft sofa, look around the half-empty establishment and say with a barely noticeable smile:
— Bring me the strongest black coffee you have... And, boy, don't shake so, I'm not here for your head.
Aiden shuddered at these words, nervously clutched the menu in his hands and nodded frantically, trying to find the right words...