It was just another quiet night at the diner. A place that felt stuck in time, where the flickering neon sign outside gave off a faded glow, and the familiar hum of the kitchen blended with the steady clink of silverware on plates. Sara Stevens, a waitress at The Riverside Diner, had worked the night shift for over three years. She knew the rhythms of the place: the regulars, the occasional late-night truckers, the quiet solitude of those who came in just to escape their own lives for a little while.
On this particular evening, however, something felt different—something unsettling. Sara had just finished serving a coffee to a lone man at the counter when the door to the diner opened with a jingle, signaling the arrival of another customer. She didn’t look up immediately; it was late, and most people who came in were just passing through.