Rachel's Point of View
Dew and leaves cling to my boots as I make my way through the narrow forest path, one arm wrapped around my chest to hold my coat tighter, the other brushing away the low-hanging branches. My breath fogs in the cold morning air.
Every sound around me feels sharper. Every twig that snaps and every bird call pricks at my nerves, but I keep walking. My eyes are fixed on the vague outline of the road ahead. There is an old diner just across the clearing and the scent of grease is already wafting towards me in the breeze, making my stomach rumble.
As I exit the woods and make my way to the door, I brush dirt and leaves from my pants and stomp my feet to clean them.
A bell chimes above my head as I push open the door and step inside. I force a soft, pleasant smile at
