Chapter 3

The neon buzz of the sign outside was the only sound left in the universe, a low, electric hum that seemed to vibrate right through the soles of my heels and into my bones. It was 2:00 AM, the witching hour for insomniacs and lovers, and here we were, trapped in the fluorescent purgatory of a classic diner, though we hadn’t left the event grounds entirely. The venue had transformed from a glittering ballroom to a hollow shell, stripped of its guests, leaving only the echoes of laughter and the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air. But no, we weren’t in the ballroom. We were in the little diner annex tucked away in the service wing, the one with the cracked vinyl booths and the jukebox that hadn’t played a tune in years. He sat across from me, the red checkered napkin crumpled in his fist. The light from the neon “OPEN” sign flickered, casting a rhythmic shadow across his jawline, highlighting the stubble that had begun to creep in over the last few hours. He looked exhausted, but that wasn’t the right word. He looked wound. Taut. Like a bowstring pulled to its breaking point. I sipped