Chapter 4 Mask

The Diner went silent for exactly one second, and then everyone started talking at once.

Cal was on the floor, one hand pressed to his jaw, blinking up at Theo like he couldn’t quite work out what had happened.

One second Cal’s fingers had been wrapped around my wrist, and the next Theo was just there, fist still curled, jaw tight. He looked down at Cal with an expression that made the rest of the Diner go very quiet very fast.

“Get up,” Theo said. His voice was flat, devoid of any heat.

Cal got up slowly. He looked between Theo and me, his jaw already darkening. Whatever he saw on Theo’s face must have answered his questions, because he muttered something under his breath and shoved past his teammates toward the door. The other two trailed after him, making a hurried exit.

The door chimed.

Theo turned to me. The sudden intensity in his posture folded away, returning instantly to that freezing blankness of his. He looked down at his own hand, where a thin line of red was welling up across two split knuckles. He didn't wince.

“You okay?” he asked.

I looked down at my wrist. Cal’s grip hadn’t even left a mark. I rubbed it anyway out of habit. “I’m fine,” I said, keeping my voice even. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he stated simply, then just turned, hands sinking back into his pockets, and walked straight out the front door to join the rest of his team waiting on the sidewalk.

“Marina, you good?” Martin asked from behind the grill, setting down his spatula.

“I’m good,” I breathed, staring at the empty doorway.

By the time my shift ended, the sun had already dropped completely, leaving the street outside dark. The Diner had emptied out to the usual late crowd before finally clearing out entirely.

“Lock up okay?” Martin asked, already halfway out the door with his keys in hand.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“You sure? I can wait.”

“I’m sure. Go home, Martin.”

He nodded and left, the door chiming behind him.

I went through the closing routine, wiping down the counters, flipping chairs onto tables, and counting the till. The empty Diner felt entirely quiet.

Every few minutes I caught myself glancing at the dark street outside through the big front windows.

I was almost done, just about to kill the lights and lock the back door, when the front door chimed.

I turned around, expecting Martin.

It was Cal.

He stood just inside the doorway, his jaw visibly swollen on one side. His eyes found me across the empty room, flat and angry.

“We’re closed,” I said, my voice coming out steady.

“Don’t care,” Cal said, and started walking toward me.

He crossed the Diner fast. My body reacted before my brain caught up, stepping back as my hand reached straight into my pants inner pocket. My fingers closed around the switchblade I kept clipped inside, the one I’ve carried since I was sixteen.

“You think it’s funny?” Cal’s voice was raw. “You think it’s funny, watching him do that to me? In front of everyone?”

“I didn’t ask him to,” I said, backing toward the counter. I calculated the distance to the phone and the back exit.

“Doesn’t matter.” He was too close now. “You’re gonna apologize to me. Right now.”

“Get out of here, Cal.”

“Make me.”

His hand shot out, reaching for my arm. I twisted away hard, my back hitting the edge of the counter. I had the switchblade half out of my pocket when the front door opened again. There was no chime this time, whoever it was had caught the bell.

Cal didn’t notice. I did.

A tall figure stepped into the Diner. He wore a smooth, black, featureless mask except for two narrow cuts for the eyes.

My eyes widened. My first thought being, they had found me.

The masked man didn’t say a word. He just moved.

The space between Cal turning around and Cal hitting the floor didn't exist as a separate moment. It was one single motion, fast, and brutal. There was absolutely no wasted effort.

Cal never stood a chance to retaliate or even think before he was knocked out clean. I had never seen anyone fight like that.

My heart pounded in my chest as I looked down at Cal.

Cal didn’t get up.

The masked man straightened, rolling his shoulders once, and turned his head toward me

Am I going to die today? I thought, my eyes still on the masked man.

I stopped breathing.

He stood entirely still, locking his eyes on me through the cutouts of the mask. My back stayed pressed against the counter, the switchblade still gripped firmly in my hand. Every rational part of my brain told me to run, but my legs wouldn't move. My heart slammed against my ribs.

My lock. The open window. It was him. It had to be.

He took a slow step toward me.

I tightened my grip on the blade, coiling my muscles. If he got close enough, I was going straight for the throat.

A hand suddenly closed around my wrist.

It wasn't hard, but it was absolute. His fingers wrapped completely around my hand, stalling the blade before I could draw it completely. I opened my eyes.

He was right in front of me. I could see the steady, unhurried rise and fall of his chest. His dark eyes moved over my face, scanning it thoroughly.

He didn’t let go of my wrist. Instead, his grip shifted, applying a slow, deliberate pressure that guided my own hand upward until the flat of the steel blade was pressed cool against my throat.

I froze entirely.

He turned the blade just slightly, tracing the edge down the curve of my neck, past my collarbone, until it rested right above the center of my chest.

He didn't press down. He just held it there, letting me feel the cold metal against my skin and the warmth of his hand still casing mine. It felt like a demonstration.

My pulse hammered violently against the flat of the blade.

Then he stopped moving. He kept the blade resting there, his dark eyes fixed on mine, waiting to see what I would do.

Slowly, he let go of my wrist. He lifted his other hand and dragged a single finger along the edge of my jawline. The brief touch made my entire body go still.

“What… what do you want?” I gritted out, looking at him.

He tilted his head, completely silent.

Then he motioned, with a slow, deliberate nod, before lifting the blade back at me.

I’m going to die.

My stomach dropped.