Malik gave a small nod and moved on: no big gesture, no expectation, just helping.
Across the room, Lisa sat at a small table watching. Her face was pale, more than usual, but her eyes followed her son with a quiet pride that never needed words. Malik caught her looking at him and gave a small smile. She returned it.
For a moment, everything felt okay.
Then the door opened, and the mood shifted.
Tyler stepped inside, flanked by the same two boys from yesterday. They didn't belong there, not really. Their clothes were too clean, their posture too relaxed, like they were visiting a place they didn't have to stay in.
"Smells like charity in here," Tyler muttered, loud enough for half the room to hear.
A few people looked up; others kept eating. Malik stiffened slightly, but didn't turn around.
Tyler walked closer, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on him. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Ferrari himself," he said with a grin.
One of the boys laughed. "Man, I saw that video," he added. "Didn't know you were a celebrity now."
Malik kept stacking trays. "Just leave it," he said quietly.
Tyler stepped closer. "Oh, come on," he said. "You fixed one car and now you think you're somebody?"
Malik turned then, slowly. "No," he said. "I don't."
Tyler tilted his head. "Good," he said. "Because you're not."
The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been. Lisa shifted in her chair, her expression tightening. Malik glanced at her just for a second, then back at Tyler.
"I'm working," he said. "If you're not here to eat, you should go."
That got a reaction. Tyler let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Listen to him," he said to his friends. "Acting like he runs the place." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to feel personal. "You don't belong anywhere near something like that car," he said. "You got lucky. That's it."
Malik didn't respond, because part of him wondered if Tyler was right.
The silence stretched. Then Mrs. Alvarez spoke from behind the counter. "If you boys aren't here to eat," she said firmly, "then you need to leave."
Tyler straightened up, holding her gaze for a moment before smirking. "Relax," he said. "We're just leaving."
He turned, heading toward the door, but not before glancing back at Malik one last time. "Enjoy your 15 minutes," he said. "They won't last."
The door slammed shut behind them. The room slowly exhaled.
Lisa coughed again, softer this time, but still there. Malik turned away, grabbing another tray, but his hands weren't as steady as before. Because Tyler's words had found their way in. And they didn't leave.
Miles away, in a quiet office filled with glass and steel, a file landed on William Harrington's desk: thin, but detailed. He opened it slowly: