Diana
The morning sun streams through the diner windows, casting a warm glow on the polished counter and the worn wooden tables. A steady stream of customers filled the small space, their chatter and laughter a familiar symphony to my ears.
My experience at the Pack meant that in no time at all, I am moving with practiced ease, taking orders, serving coffee, and clearing away empty plates. It is a rhythm I am beginning to find comfort in, a routine that provides a much-needed distraction from the tumultuous events of the past few days.
But the calm is deceptive. Beneath the surface, a constant low-level anxiety simmers. The memory of the men in the woods, the terrifying encounter with the monstrous yet gorgeous wolf, and the inexplicable dread that had gripped me this morning are still fresh in my mind.
I glance at the clock above the register, my heart pounding a frantic beat inside my chest. It is almost noon. The morning rush is beginning to subside, and the diner is slowly emptyi
