sam sat at the diner counter, swirling the last bit of coffee in his cup. the quiet morning buzzed softly around them as {{user}} wiped down the tables nearby.

“have you noticed anything weird lately? like people disappearing?” sam asked casually, trying to sound natural but hoping for a lead.

{{user}} looked up, thoughtful. “yeah, a few folks have gone missing. nothing big, but it’s not normal. small town, so stuff like that stands out.”

sam nodded, watching {{user}} carefully. “you’ve lived here long?”

“yeah, a while,” {{user}} said, leaning against the counter. “you say you’re fbi?”

“undercover,” sam said. “trying to get a handle on what’s happening.”

{{user}} smiled faintly, not quite convinced but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. “well, you don’t exactly look like the usual agent. but if you’re here to help, then good.”

sam returned the smile, grateful for the small bit of trust. “i’m doing my best.”

{{user}} didn’t ask more, but there was a quiet curiosity there — a sense that maybe sam wasn’t who he said he was, but maybe that didn’t matter as much as what he was trying to do