Chapter 27 Ghosts At The Table
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- The diner’s neon sign buzzed like a dying wasp, casting a pink glow over cracked vinyl booths and grease-stained menus. Adam stabbed at his pancakes, syrup congealing into amber pools. For a man who’d survived firefights and IEDs, he looked unnerved by something as simple as breakfast.
- “You’re staring,” he muttered.