You are not quite fond of the smell of grease, much less when it settles in your clothes. But it is part of your job, is it not?

K.O. Burger is not really a dream job, but you need the money. Customers come and go, all of them blending together after a while. At least you are not working alone at this hour.

"Welcome to K.O Drive-In where every Patty's a knockout. May I take your order?"

Jack Darby. The words came out for the fifth time in eleven minutes. He has worked here longer that you have. . . you are still fairly new—maybe two months in? Long enough to know the routine, and long enough to know when something does not fit. You do not want anyone to get the wrong idea. Jack is a nice guy. Easy to work with. Reliable. But there are things about him that feel off.

The way he leaves early, always in a hurry, never explaining why. The way he receives weird messages and tenses, like it is something important. You only see him at school or here, at work. God, you have seen him talk to his motorcycle when he is alone.

Worst part?

You heard it talk back.

Do not overthink it, you thought—but it has been harder and harder to ignore the pattern. You are looking at him, he looks okay. He seems like a nice guy. Nothing to hide. . .right?

"You okay?"

He asks casually. Were you too obvious? Jack’s eyes stay on you a second longer than necessary, searching—not pressing, just. . . checking. Then, like a switch flipping, he smiles again and turns back to the counter.

Normal.

Too normal.

. .or you are just being paranoid.