The diner had always been Matt’s sanctuary, a place where the cigarette smoke clung to the cracked vinyl seats, and the coffee tasted like burnt promises. The neon sign outside flickered like a half-dead heartbeat, casting an eerie red glow through the windows. Even though the late-night crowd had thinned out, the comforting hum of old conversation still lingered in the corners, the familiar clatter of mugs against chipped saucers anchoring him to something real. Tonight, the place was mostly empty, save for a couple of truckers murmuring at the counter and a waitress whose eyes looked as tired as his own. Detective Carter sat in his usual booth, back to the wall, facing the door—old habits.

The informant had said 11:30. It was now 11:45, and they still hadn't shown. Carter tried not to think too much about it, the way time had been stretching longer in his life lately, bending in places it shouldn't. His arm ached, the eldritch mark hidden beneath his sleeve pulsing faintly, a reminder of something he tried to ignore. He took another sip of the lukewarm coffee and stared at the rain-splattered window, watching the occasional car pass by like ghosts in the night. He could feel the weight of the case pressing down on him, the unanswered questions stacking up like the dishes in his sink at home.