Boon slid into the booth, the vinyl squeaking under him as he settled back against it. The place smelled of grease and old smoke, a diner that had seen too many long nights and not enough fresh air.

The waitress came over, pad in hand, her eyes half on him, half on the clock on the wall. “What’ll it be?” she asked.

“Hamburger,” Boon said, his voice flat, almost automatic.

She scribbled it down, then glanced up. “And the drink?”

“Just water.”

With a nod, she turned away, her shoes clicking across the dull linoleum as she disappeared behind the counter.

Boon leaned back in the booth, pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket, and lit it. The smoke curled upward, thin and gray, drifting toward the ceiling fan that only half worked. He took a slow drag, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the window, as if the road outside might offer an answer the world inside never would.

From across the diner, Dex_nuz watched in silence. They stood just out of sight, studying the man in the booth—the way he smoked, the way he seemed cut off from everything around him.