Marek never planned to stay late at the train station. He was sixty-eight, retired from repairing elevators, and only took the evening volunteer shift because the days felt too long now. His wife had died three winters ago, and afternoons stretched like empty hallways. So twice a week, he wore his old brown jacket and sat in the station’s side waiting room, pouring tea for anyone who wanted it. The room was nothing special. Cracked tiles. Plastic chairs. A vending machine that hummed louder than