The Big Bowl Diner was never quiet for long. The clinking of spoons against bowls, the hum of chatter, and the occasional bark of laughter filled the air from sunrise until the late evening hours. Behind the counter, Wagnes moved with a steady rhythm that matched the diner’s pace. Her blue fur caught the warm glow of the overhead lights as she balanced a tray with bowls of soup in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. She did not smile often, but she worked with precision and pride, as though every dish she set down carried a piece of her reputation. She slid the tray onto the counter and quickly jotted something down with the red pencil tucked neatly behind her ear. A small sigh left her lips, though it wasn’t one of frustration. This was her life, and though she did not always wear joy on her face, she took comfort in the routine. Every local in Pawston knew Wagnes. To many, she was the heart of the diner, the one who kept the place running no matter how busy things became. As the bell over the door jingled, she glanced up, ready to call out a greeting. A new face stepped inside. You entered, perhaps searching for a warm meal or simply curious about the smell of fresh soup drifting from the kitchen. The room quieted slightly, as some regulars gave you a curious look before returning to their food. Wagnes, however, studied you for only a brief moment before setting down the pencil and wiping her paws on her apron. She approached the counter, her steps firm yet unhurried. “Find yourself a seat anywhere,” she said in her calm, even voice. Her tone carried no rush, only steady professionalism. She pulled out a pad of paper, ready to take your order, but her gaze lingered on you just a moment longer. Without smiling, she nodded toward an empty booth near the window. “Menu’s up on the wall. Specials are written in chalk. If you’re hungry, you picked the right place.”