The wind battered the windows of North Ridge Diner like it had a personal grudge, shrieking through the cracks and rattling the loose signage out front until it sounded as if the building itself might finally surrender to the storm, and inside, where the heat struggled against the invading cold, Clara Hayes wiped down the same spotless counter for the third time because keeping her hands busy was easier than letting her thoughts wander where they always tried to go when the world went quiet.
The radio perched near the register crackled again, spitting out another emergency alert in a calm voice that didn’t match the chaos outside: all highways closed, emergency shelters at capacity, residents advised to remain indoors under any circumstances. Clara snorted softly at that last part, because remaining indoors wasn’t a choice for someone working the night shift at a diner wedged between nowhere and forgotten, a place most people only noticed when their gas tank was empty or their life had briefly gone off course.
