John Jones The Ninth Butler

The streets outside the Triple Js diner were slick with the afternoon sun, the pavement glistening under the muted glow of streetlights. The occasional car passed by, its tires hissing on the wet asphalt, but the sidewalks were mostly deserted, giving the area an almost eerie stillness. A figure moved through the Sidewalk, her steps deliberate, her expression unreadable. With her dark hair tied back in a simple ponytail and a long coat wrapped tightly around her, exuded an air of quiet determination. She pushed open the glass door of the diner, the bell above it chiming softly, and stepped inside.