The bell didn't stop echoing in Kail's head. It was still ringing, even though it was silent now. Like the sound was inside her ears instead of the diner. She blinked, rubbed at them, and muttered, "God, my brain feels like static."
Lizz shifted in the booth across from her, looking pale. "Static? Try nails on a chalkboard. That's what it feels like. Something's… wrong."
Kail waved a fry like it was a sword. "Something's always wrong. Monsters, curses, gods trying to drown us. Wrong is the new normal. I'm too tired to care."
Her arm dropped, heavy, and she leaned against Aiden's shoulder again. She hadn't even realized she'd done it until she felt the tension ripple through him — spine stiff, chest unmoving like stone.
"You're uncomfortable," Kail mumbled. "Sorry." But she didn't move away.
Aiden's voice was low. "I'm not."
That woke her up. Just a little. She tilted her head, trying to read his face. His eyes were still dark, guarded, but there was the faintest… something. A softness, maybe. Or she was imagining it.
"Liar," she said, forcing a grin. "You hate human touch. You hate everything. You hate fries. You're like a—what's the word—grumpy crow."
"Crows are intelligent."
"Oh my God, that wasn't a compliment!"
Lizz snorted, half-listening, half still scanning the too-empty street through the window. "You two are ridiculous."
The silence stretched. The waitress chewed her gum. The bell didn't ring again, but Kail kept waiting for it to. She hated waiting.
So she started talking.
"You know, when I thought we were gonna die back there—like, really die, for good—I kept thinking about the dumbest things. Like… I'd never eat fries again. Or sing badly in the shower. Or, like… fall in love. Stupid, right?"
Aiden's gaze snapped to her, sharp. "Fall in love?"
Kail blinked. Her face went hot. "Oh, relax, I didn't mean with you. Obviously. I mean, not—ugh. Forget I said anything." She covered her face with both hands and groaned. "Kill me. Please. End me now."
"You want him to kill you in a diner after surviving an ocean god?" Lizz muttered. "Pathetic."
Kail peeked through her fingers at Aiden. "Don't you dare look smug."
"I wasn't," he said, but there was a flicker at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. But close.
The food sat forgotten now. Fries gone cold, coffee untouched. Kail's leg bounced under the table.
"You ever… want that?" she asked suddenly. "Like, anything normal. Not just silence. I mean… someone. People. Connection. Whatever."
Aiden didn't answer right away. He didn't look at her either. His hand rested on the table, still, but his fingers flexed once, like something inside him had cracked.
"I'm not meant for that," he said finally.
Kail wanted to laugh it off, make a joke. But her chest ached instead. "Says who? You? The universe? Screw that."
His eyes flicked to hers then, and for the first time, Kail felt it — the weight of centuries, loneliness heavy like chains. It made her throat dry. She wanted to touch him, but her hands stayed glued to the booth seat.
"You don't scare me," she whispered.
"You should."
"Too late."
Lizz groaned and banged her head lightly on the table. "If you two start making heart eyes while creepy Gum Lady is still staring at us, I'm walking out."
Kail shoved a napkin at her. "Shut up. Nobody's making heart eyes."
"You so are."
"Am not."
Aiden stayed silent, but his jaw twitched.
The waitress hadn't moved. Still chewing, still staring. And maybe it was just the dim light, but her lips looked too red. Painted on. Wrong.
Kail tried to ignore it. She leaned closer to Aiden, voice dropping like a secret: "You know what I hate? That you never say what you're feeling. Ever. Like I'm supposed to just guess."
"There's nothing to say."
"Bullshit." Her voice cracked. "There's always something. You just choke it down so deep it never sees daylight."
For a second, the air between them felt heavy enough to crush her. Then his hand moved — not toward her, but closer, resting on the table until their fingers almost touched. Almost.
Kail's heart thudded against her ribs. She wanted to close the gap, just an inch, but she couldn't make herself do it. Her whole body screamed too much, too soon.
Lizz, mercifully, chose that moment to choke on her milkshake straw. "God, kill me. The tension is making me gag."
"Drink quieter then!" Kail snapped, way too fast, cheeks burning.
Aiden's voice came low, like gravel. "You shouldn't ask me for feelings. They don't end well."
"Maybe I don't care if it ends well," Kail shot back. "Maybe I just… want something real. Even if it's a mess."
"Everything with you is a mess."
She grinned, watery-eyed. "Exactly."
And for a second — just a second — his mouth softened, like he almost smiled.
Outside, Vordi coiled tighter, rattling the window. The bell over the door shivered though no one touched it.
Lizz stood abruptly. "Okay, I can't. I need air. You two—figure out whatever this is. I'll… patrol. Or whatever." She grabbed her jacket and stormed out.
The diner went quiet again. Just Kail, Aiden, the staring waitress, and the hum of neon lights.
Kail blew out a shaky breath. "So. Guess it's just us."
"Seems so."
Her eyes darted to the waitress, then back to him. "She's still watching."
"I know."
"Creepy."
"Yes."
"…Do something about it?"
His lips twitched. "She hasn't moved. Neither should we."
"God, you're infuriating." She slumped against the booth, then immediately straightened, words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Why do you stay? With us, I mean. Me. Lizz. You could've walked away a hundred times. You act like you hate it, but you don't leave."
Aiden didn't answer at first. His gaze was on her, sharp and steady. Then: "Because you don't let me."
Kail's stomach flipped. "That's… not true."
His eyes darkened. "Isn't it?"
She swallowed hard. "Maybe I don't want to let you."
The silence between them stretched so long it hurt. Her hands shook under the table.
Then Aiden reached across. His fingers brushed hers, finally, slow and deliberate, like testing fire.
Kail froze. Her breath caught. Every nerve lit up.
"See?" she whispered, her voice a mess of nerves and bravado. "Not so hard."
He didn't pull away.
The bell rang again.
Both of them jumped.
Kail cursed under her breath, clutching his hand tighter without meaning to. The waitress's jaw moved, gum popping louder this time.
But Aiden didn't let go.
He moved — a fraction, almost invisible — his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. It was a small thing. Tiny. But it hit Kail like an explosion.
"Stop," she said, whispering, and a laugh escaped her that sounded like a sob.
"Stop what?" he murmured, not looking away.
"Being weird," she said. "Being hot, being distant, being everything I don't deserve." She wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time. The urge to do both left her dizzy.
"You deserve better," he said, too quick.
She blinked. "Like what? Someone normal? Someone alive? Someone who showers?"
"You deserve someone who stays." His voice scraped. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't vow-worthy. It was just honest and that was worse.
Her chest squeezed. She wanted to tell him she'd already decided he was staying. She wanted to tell him she'd been thinking about his hands when she couldn't sleep, about the way his silence sounded like a song she could almost remember. But those sentences were soft as smoke and drifted away.
So she did the other stupid thing she always did: she deflected. "So you're saying you'll save me from eating only fries forever?"
He let out something that might have been a laugh and might have been a noise that was closer to an animal. "I'll try."
"You'll fail," she predicted.
"Maybe." He squeezed her hand once, quick and sure. "Maybe I'll fail spectacularly."
Outside, the sky dimmed. The town seemed to inhale, and then exhale. Lizz's footsteps padded closer, then stopped. The bell didn't ring again, but the air felt wrong in a way that had nothing to do with romance.
"Guys." Lizz's voice was low and urgent when she slid back into the booth. "You are not going to believe this."
Kail snapped upright, adrenaline up. "What? Spill."
Lizz looked around like she feared the walls were listening. "There's a man out there. No, listen. I saw him at the corner near the pier. He—" she swallowed. "He walked right through the lamppost. Like, into light. He kept walking like it was normal. I swear."
Aiden's hand tightened around hers. For a moment his calm mask disappeared — the briefest flash of real, raw danger. He stood, chair scraping the floor.
"Show me," he said.
Lizz gestured toward the window. The street was still empty. The pier lay like a black tooth in the distance.
They went outside. The air hit them — clean, cold, electric. Vordi uncoiled, gliding alongside like shadowed armor. The town smelled faintly of salt and old frying oil and something else, like copper.
At the corner, the lamppost flickered, then stuttered. Kail's stomach dropped. There were footprints in the grime that ended abruptly at light.
"Okay," Kail said, voice small. "Okay that's not normal."
Aiden knelt, examining the ground. He didn't say the things that would make it scarier. He didn't narrate the doom. He simply moved with a calm, professional motion that made Kail's heart ache. Protective, she thought. Ridiculous, she thought. Terrifying, she thought.
Then he turned to her, face inches away, breath fogging. "Don't—don't get reckless," he said. It was an order and a plea and something like a confession.
She closed her eyes. "I won't."
But she wanted to tell him she'd run into the light if he told her to, that she'd jump without thinking just to see his reaction. She wanted to say all the wildly confessing things that would ruin them both or fix them forever.
Instead she chose the small, stupid dare: "Promise me you'll stay."
He looked at her like she'd asked him to split an atom. Then, impossibly, he smiled — a twitch, a crack in the stone. "I promise."
It wasn't smooth. It wasn't dramatic. It was a ruined, breathless kind of promise. But it landed inside her like a coin dropped into a well.
The bell of the diner rang then, loud and thin, as if on cue. The waitress watched from the doorway, gum popping like punctuation.
Kail's knees went soft. She gripped Aiden's hand so tight her knuckles whitened.
"Stay," she told him, again. Because promises required repeating, like vows whispered to the dark.
He squeezed back. "I'm staying."
The town held its breath with them, and for a heartbeat the world felt like it might not explode. Then the lamppost hummed, and something moved in the dark waters beyond the pier, and the future, as always, waited with teeth.
The town held its breath with them, and for a heartbeat the world felt like it might not explode. Then the lamppost hummed, and something moved in the dark waters beyond the pier, and the future, as always, waited with teeth.
Kail leaned into the warmth of his hand, almost daring herself to say the words hovering in her throat. Stay. Want. Need.
But then—
The waitress's voice cut through the night. Flat, too loud, like a radio tuned wrong.
"They don't belong here."
Kail whipped around. The diner door was wide open, neon buzzing, and the waitress stood framed in the glow. Her face had changed. The lipstick had smeared up into her cheeks, stretching, splitting. Her mouth wasn't chewing anymore. It was opening. Too wide.
Inside, the bell clanged on its own, again and again and again—frenzied, desperate, like an alarm.
Vordi hissed so loud the ground shook. Aiden pulled Kail back against him, his grip iron, eyes fixed on the figure in the doorway.
The waitress stepped forward. Her jaw unhinged with a wet snap. White light spilled out of her throat, blinding.
And in that impossible brightness, Kail swore she saw them. Not reflections, not illusions. Them—herself, Aiden, Lizz—already sitting inside the booth. Eating. Laughing. Holding hands.
Trapped.
Her stomach dropped into ice. The copies in the booth all turned their heads toward her at once, smiles stretching too wide.
The gum popped.
The light went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.