Gabrielle's smirk lingers for half a second, then her outline softens. The snow keeps falling, but she doesn't. She just… blinks out. No flash. No sound. One moment she's there beside me, coat dusted in white, eyes sharp with that strange mix of fondness and judgment she's perfected. The next, she's gone.
I let out a slow breath. Not surprised. Not startled. Just aware of the space she leaves behind.
And in that space, I see it.
A diner across the street. Chrome trim. Big windows fogged from the heat inside. A neon sign flickering between "OPEN" and "PEN," like it's too tired to commit. The kind of place that smells like coffee and grease and conversations that don't matter.
A good old American diner.
My stomach growls. Loud enough that I glance around to make sure no one heard. The cold air bites at my face, reminding me I haven't eaten since… I don't even know when. Before the casino. Before the chair. Before everything.
I cross the street, hands in my pockets, snow crunching under my shoes. The bell above the door jingles when I push it open. Warmth hits me first. Then the smell — bacon, coffee, something frying on a flat top. My brain lights up like it's been waiting for this exact moment.
The place is half-full. A trucker at the counter. A couple in a booth sharing pancakes. A waitress with a tired ponytail refilling mugs without asking. It feels lived in. Safe in a way that doesn't announce itself.
I slide into a booth near the window. The vinyl seat squeaks under me. A menu sits tucked behind the napkin holder, laminated and worn at the edges. I flip it open, but I already know what I want.
Food. Any food.
The waitress walks over, pen behind her ear. "Coffee?"
"Yeah," I say. "Please."
She pours without waiting for more. "You look like you need it."
"Long night."
"Looks like it."
She leaves me with the mug and a moment to breathe. The warmth seeps into my hands. My ribs don't hurt as much. My head feels clearer. The world feels… manageable.
I look around the diner. People talking. Eating. Living. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous. Just life happening in small, quiet ways.
The bell above the door jingles again.
I don't look up right away.
But I feel something shift. A presence. A ripple in the air. Not supernatural. Not Gabrielle. Something human. Something real.
I set the mug down and lift my eyes.