Chapter 10 - THE RETURN TO EIGHT O'CLOCKThree days later.
The rain had cleared, leaving behind a crisp, golden autumn afternoon that painted the rust-belt town in brilliant shades of amber and red.
The Last Light Diner was bustling. The trucker was back by the window reading the morning paper; the old woman with the cane was enjoying a slice of apple pie in booth three; Jimmy was whistling behind the counter, flipping pancakes with a renewed, cheerful vigor.
At precisely 7:59 p.m., the front doorbell chimed.
Lena stood behind the counter, wiping down the stainless steel surface with a clean cloth. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
The familiar scent of rain and cedarwood drifted through the doorway.
Matteo Marquez walked in, wearing his old denim jacket, his face calm, his eyes steady and warm. He crossed the room, walked straight to booth seven, and slid onto the vinyl bench—right where he belonged.
He didn't say a word. He simply reached out, tapping his finger twice against the Formica table.
May you like
Lena smiled, grabbed a clean ceramic mug, and poured fresh, steaming black coffee until the steam rose between them like a quiet blessing.
The diner door clicked shut behind them, and for the first time in a lifetime of shadows, the world outside stayed completely, perfectly still.
