Blood and Silver

City of Shadows

The city never really sleeps. It just changes its rhythm, trading honking taxis and chattering pedestrians for the low murmur of late-night wanderers and the occasional siren wailing through the streets. I’ve lived here for three years, long enough to know the shortcuts, the best places to eat at ungodly hours, and exactly how to avoid the creeps on the subway. It’s not glamorous, but it’s home.

I step out of my tiny apartment and into the crisp night air, my thigh high black boots hitting the sidewalk with purpose. The neon glow of the diner where I work flickers up ahead, the old sign buzzing faintly. “Eddie’s” isn’t much—a greasy spoon tucked between a liquor store and a laundromat—but it pays the bills, and that’s enough for me.

Pushing through the door, I’m greeted by the usual mix of regulars and night-shift workers. The scent of coffee and fried food lingers in the air. “Selene! You’re late,” Trish, myco-worker, teases from behind the counter, tossing a clean rag over her shoulder. Her auburn hair is tied up in a long ponytail hanging down her back. Her apron with a seemingly permanent coffee stain is tossed over her thin frame.

“Yeah, yeah. Subway delays.” I tie my apron around my waist over top of low-cut diner uniform, ignoring her glare. “What’s the damage?”

“Nothing too bad. Greasy Greg’s on his third burger, and the truckers are keeping to themselves. Just another night in paradise.”

Greg, one of our less charming regulars, is slumped over his plate at the counter, a film of sweat on his forehead. He’s harmless, mostly, but I know better than to get too close. I pour coffee, take orders, and fall into the familiar rhythm of the night shift, letting the hum of the city fade into the background.

At around 11 PM, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Mom: You working late again?

Me: Always.

Mom: Make sure you’re eating properly. You get so thin when you forget. And take your vitamins.

Me: Ok, Mom, got it. Love you. Go to bed.

Mom: Love you too, baby.

I smile slightly. My mother means well, even if we don’t always see eye to eye anymore. I grew up in the suburbs with the most normal parents anyone could ask for. It was nice, but now I had always craved the rush of city life. I moved out into the city 2 years ago when I turned 18 and she’s worried since.