Back at his desk, as the afternoon slump began to pull his eyelids down, Silas opened the bag. He took out a single, perfectly round bean. It felt cool and smooth between his fingers. He popped it into his mouth.

Silas paid, cradling the warm bag like a treasure. He had a twelve-hour shift ahead of him at the archives, digitizing centuries-old maps that seemed to blur together after hour four. He knew exactly how this would go.

He walked past the line of people tapping on laptops and made a beeline for the glass counter at the back. There, nestled between giant oatmeal raisins cookies and pale lemon scones, sat a large glass apothecary jar filled with dark, glossy spheres.

It was a perfect contrast. The crunch was loud in the quiet archive room, a physical jolt to his system.

"A half-pound of the dark chocolate espresso beans, please," Silas told the barista, a young woman with neon green hair and a nametag that read Echo .