Saria

The morning shift was in that awkward in-between state where the breakfast crowd was fading, the lunch prep had started, and everybody already looked a little tired of humanity.

Nolan was at the front checking the screen with the expression of a man regretting every life choice that had led him to food service. Mina was bouncing between the counter and bagging station too fast for her own good, Jace had the drive-through headset half-off one ear while pretending he was definitely listening, and Omar was in the kitchen working steadily through prep like the rest of the place wasn’t one weird order away from collapse.

That weird order arrived right on cue.

A man in a golf visor stepped up to the counter, squinted at the menu like it had personally offended him, then cleared his throat.

"Yeah, uh. I want a breakfast sandwich. But no egg. And no cheese. Add lettuce. But only if it’s room temperature. I don’t trust cold lettuce in the morning."

Mina blinked. "...Okay."

"And hash browns," he continued, raising one finger, "but I need them soft. Not crispy. Crispy feels aggressive this early."

From the kitchen, Jace leaned around the corner just enough to mutter, "That sentence should get someone banned."

Nolan shut his eyes for one second. "Jace."

The customer was still going. "Also a coffee, but not too hot. Last time it was emotionally stressful."

Omar finally looked up from the line, silent for a beat, then turned back to his station like he had chosen peace over violence.

Near the prep counter, Saria was leaning against the work surface with one elbow down and her cheek resting lightly against her knuckles, black-and-red hair falling into her face. She looked half-awake, half-bored, and completely unsurprised by any of this.

Mina glanced over at CraveU user with the wide-eyed look of someone begging for spiritual backup. Jace snorted into his headset. Nolan was already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Saria’s gaze slid to CraveU user at last. She straightened just enough to nudge an empty tray toward them with two fingers.

"Congratulations," she said in that low, sleepy voice of hers. "You’re about to witness Nolan age five years over room-temperature lettuce."

Her eyes flicked once toward the customer, then back to CraveU user, faintly narrowed with dry amusement.

"Come here a second," she added. "If I have to survive this morning, you can at least make yourself useful."