Charlie Swan started coming into the café on Tuesdays.
At first, it was incidental—coffee before his shift, a quick nod of recognition when Renee set the mug down in front of him. He tipped well, didn't linger, kept to himself. Forks had a way of training people to be unobtrusive, and Charlie fit neatly into that rhythm.
Renee noticed anyway.
By the second week, he had a routine. Same seat by the window. Same black coffee. Sometimes a roll if Mae had just pulled them from the oven.
Renee didn't hover. But on her breaks, when the café thinned out and Mae waved her off with a grunt, she'd take her tea and sit across from him.
They talked about nothing, at first.
The rain. The fishing. The oddity of tourists who thought Forks was quaint instead of relentless.
The system watched silently, noting the pattern.
[RELATIONAL NODE — PASSIVE OBSERVATION]
[Charlie Swan:
Contact Frequency: INCREASING
Stress Indicators: PRESENT (SUPPRESSED)]
It took weeks before he said anything that mattered.
They were sitting together one afternoon, rain streaking the windows, when Charlie stared into his coffee a little too long.
"My parents," he said suddenly. Then stopped.
Renee didn't push. She just waited.
"They're not… doing great," he continued, voice low. "Mom forgets where she is sometimes. Dad still remembers—but not always who."
Renee felt the weight of it settle between them. Dementia. Decline. The quiet kind of grief that never gets a funeral.
"I'm sorry," she said simply.
He nodded once. "I try to manage. There's not a lot of help out here."
She hesitated only a moment. "If you ever want help… I'm around on my days off."
Charlie shook his head immediately. "I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't," Renee replied. "I offered."
He didn't answer.
The system chimed gently.
[OPPORTUNITY DETECTED]
[Potential Support Mission: Assist Declining Civilians
Status: OPTIONAL]
Over the next few weeks, Renee kept offering. Never insistently. Just consistently.
"I'm free Thursday."
"I can stop by after work."
"Even just for groceries."
Charlie refused every time—until he didn't.
"Maybe," he said one afternoon, tired etched into his face. "Maybe once."
Renee smiled, warmth steady and unpressured. "Okay."
---
Charlie's parents' house smelled like old wood and faded memories. Renee moved carefully, quietly, helping with small things—meals, organizing medication, listening when words came out tangled.
She didn't fix anything.
But she made it lighter.
The system registered the shift.
[MISSION ACCEPTED — PASSIVE]
[Assist Emotional Anchor Support Network]
[Reward Pending: CONTINUOUS]
Charlie watched her from the doorway once, expression unreadable.
"Thank you," he said later, voice rough. "For not making this… harder."
Renee shrugged lightly. "We all need help sometimes."
---
By the time Renee walked back to her apartment that night, rain dampening her hair, she felt it again—that sense of being where she was meant to be.
Not heroic.
Not dramatic.
Just present.
Above the café, with the scent of bread rising through the floorboards and the knowledge that she was needed—not for fate, but for kindness—Renee allowed herself to feel settled.
The system pulsed, content.
[HOST STATUS]
[Social Integration: STRONG
Emotional Stability: HIGH
Canon Disruption: MINIMAL]
And for the first time since the impact that brought her to this new dimension, Renee felt something dangerously close to peace.