The night was quiet. Too quiet.
Maya stood behind the bar, wiping down the same spot she'd wiped ten times already. The rag moved in slow, mechanical circles, but her mind was elsewhere, racing through possibilities, through fears, through the nagging sense that something was about to go terribly wrong. The bar was empty except for the usual stragglers—Earl nursing his beer in the corner, his gnarled hands wrapped around the glass like it was a lifeline, his eyes distant and lost in memory; the trucker asleep in his booth, his snores a low rumble that blended with the hum of the refrigerator; a few locals playing cards at a table near the back, their voices low and muffled, their laughter forced and hollow. The jukebox was playing something soft and sad, a country song about leaving and l
