Jules POV
At Mel’s diner, table six needs refills. Table three wants their check. Table nine is waving me down for something.
I grab the coffee pot with shaking hands. Walk toward table six.
The floor tilts.
I catch myself on a nearby booth. Breathe. Just breathe.
"You okay, hon?" An older woman watches me with concern.
"Fine. Just tired."
I pour her coffee. Half of it misses the cup.
"Sorry." My voice sounds far away. "I'll clean that up."
The room spins harder. Black spots dance in my vision.
When did I last eat? Yesterday? The day before?
Can't remember.
Table three is calling me. I turn toward them.
The world goes sideways.
I reach for something—anything—to stop the fall.
My hand finds the counter edge. Then nothing.
The impact comes hard. Sharp pain explodes above my e
