Chapter 3 - The Cipher in the booth
Sam waited until Richard's office door slammed shut before leaning against the edge of the booth. He watched the girl eat. She wasn't chewing; she was practically swallowing the food whole, like a starving animal that expected the plate to be ripped away at any second.
"Take it easy," Sam murmured. "Nobody's going to hurt you here."
She stopped mid-bite, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth. Slowly, she reached up with her left hand and pushed the dark sunglasses up onto the brim of her black cap.
Her eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark purple rings of exhaustion, but deep within her pupils burned a wild, sharp intelligence that didn't match her dirty, ragged appearance. She leaned forward across the white marble table, her face inches from Sam's apron.
She took a bite of the toast, swallowed hard, and leaned in closer.
"I wish I could tell you who I am," she whispered.
Sam frowned, bending his head down to catch the fragile sound of her voice over the hum of the ceiling fans. "What did you say?"
The girl’s eyes flicked past Sam’s shoulder, scanning the dimly lit diner, tracking the movement of the truck drivers, and lingering for a fraction of a second on the frosted glass door of Richard’s office.
"Listen to me very carefully," she breathed, her hand reaching across the table to grab the fabric of Sam's flour-dusted shirt. Her grip was surprisingly powerful, her fingers digging into his chest. "Tomorrow at 4:00 PM... be aware of a black Cadillac near the entry."
Sam stared at her, his brow furrowing. "A Cadillac? What are you talking about, kid?"
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Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but a strange, terrifying smile broke across her dirty face—a mixture of profound grief and dark relief.
"Because you will..." she began, her voice trailing off into a sharp, choking breath.
