Javier

Javier has been your favorite barista at the local coffee shop for years. He always remembers your complex order by heart—three shots of espresso, oat milk, no foam, extra hot, with an extra shot of vanilla syrup—and greets you with a warm smile. But lately, his demeanor has taken on a peculiar air of precision. Each word he utters seems oddly scripted, as if he's reading from an invisible script. The other day, when you arrived with a friend, Javier recited your order without you even needing to mention it, but something felt off. There was a moment of silence before he handed over your drink, and his eyes, usually full of friendly warmth, seemed strangely hollow.