The diner sat at the edge of Zone Four, one of those aggressively cheerful burger joints that clearly existed to take advantage of first-years who wanted to feel normal for five minutes. Red vinyl booths, checkered floors, chrome fixtures everywhere. The smell of grease and meat hit me the second I walked in, and my stomach immediately staged a coup.
I spotted the squad already crammed into a corner booth. Jordan had claimed the window seat and was currently using it as a pillow, his face pressed against the glass like a sad puppy. Belle sat across from him with her blue hair pulled into a ponytail, examining the menu with the same intensity she usually reserved for calculating loot values. Misato occupied the aisle seat, scrolling through her phone with that particular frown that meant she was texting Blair and not enjoying it.
