(Mirabel's POV)
The pancakes arrived.
And everything changed.
Not dramatically.
Not cosmically.
Not with explosions of possibility or revelations that shattered reality.
Just—
Pancakes.
Warm.
Golden.
Covered in enough syrup to qualify as a natural disaster.
The impossible child gasped.
The End stared.
The Witness smiled.
The Collector immediately stole one.
Nobody knew how.
Nobody asked.
The waitress returned.
Holding a coffee pot.
"Need anything else?"
The End looked at her.
Then at the pancakes.
Then at the menu.
Then at existence itself.
And for the first time—
The oldest force in creation answered a question without needing certainty.
"No."
A pause.
Then:
"I think this is enough."
The waitress nodded.
"Good."
And walked away.
The End watched her leave.
