Shifting fates

Chapter Thirteen: The Dinner

Two years later.

The bell above the diner door jingled again, but I barely glanced up. My hands moved on autopilot, balancing a steaming tray of breakfast plates while juggling a heavy coffeepot. The smell of burnt toast and frying bacon filled the cramped kitchen space, mixing with the faint scent of old vinyl from the jukebox in the corner. This place wasn’t fancy — it was gritty, worn, and imperfect. But it was home now.

“Morning, Mr. Jenkins,” I said, sliding a fresh cup of coffee in front of the same grumpy old man who came in every day at the same time. He grunted his thanks without looking up from his newspaper.

After a moment, he muttered,

“Eggs a bit runny this morning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Runny? You want me to send them back to the kitchen?”

He scowled but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just saying, a bit more cooked would be nicer.”

“Noted. I’ll tell the kitchen they’re taking orders from Mr. Jenkins himself.”

He snorted softly. “Maybe they should.”

Behind me, Mira—my unofficial boss and the woman who’d taken me in two years ago when I had nothing but a suitcase and a tangled mess of broken dreams—called out from the kitchen pass,

“You gonna flirt your way into bigger tips or actually take Table 4’s order today?”

I wiped my hands on my apron and gave her a mock-salute.

“If you didn’t keep giving me all the grumpy old men who think smiling causes wrinkles, I might be faster.”

She laughed, shaking her head, clearly amused by my sarcasm.

“Charm. You’ve got it.”

“Charm? I call it raw desperation and a rent check to pay,” I shot back with a wink.

Mira leaned against the counter, watching me with a soft smile that made me think maybe I wasn’t as broken as I sometimes felt. When I first arrived here—scared, angry, and barely able to string two sentences together—she had been the one person who refused to give up on me. Now, after two years of long shifts, late nights, and some seriously awkward first attempts at “normal,” I was standing on my own two feet again.

I glanced up at the dusty mirror behind the counter and caught a glimpse of myself. My hair had grown longer, soft waves brushing my shoulders instead of the cropped bob I used to hate. My cheeks had color—real, healthy color—and there was a quiet strength in the way I held myself. Not just physically but something deeper, earned through every step I’d taken away from that pack. But sometimes, despite the hard-earned calm, my gaze drifted to the windows without me meaning to. I’d watch the world outside like a spectator, the humans going about their busy lives, oblivious to the storms I’d left behind. No wolf at my side. No pack. No Alpha waiting to claim me. No sister—only memories I tried not to think about too much.

I shoved those thoughts away as I headed toward Table 4, pad in hand, sarcasm fully loaded.

“Hey, what’s it gonna be today?” I asked, a teasing smile on my lips.

The couple looked up from their menus, smiling back. “We’re thinking pancakes,” the woman said. “And maybe some of your famous coffee.”

“Famous, huh? I like the sound of that.” I jotted down the order, then glanced over my shoulder at Mira, who gave me a thumbs-up. “Coming right up.”

The diner’s floor creaked under my boots as I moved toward the kitchen. The clang of pots and pans was comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. This life was nothing like the one I’d been ripped from—no magic, no dangerous politics, no threats lurking in every shadow. Just sweat, honest work, and a chance to breathe.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and smiled when I saw Mireya’s name on the screen. The witch had become my lifeline over the last two years, checking in regularly with advice, spells, or just a few words to remind me I wasn’t completely alone.

I answered with a smile. “Hey, Mireya.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” came her warm voice, familiar and grounding. “Just wanted to check in. How’s the diner? Still surviving the great coffee flood of last week?”

I laughed. “Just barely. I think the coffee machine is plotting something. How’s everything your end?”

There was a pause, then the faint sound of tiny footsteps and a child’s voice in the background. “Is that Raine?”

I could practically see the little face peeking over the edge of the kitchen table. My heart softened.

“Hi, Sarah,” I said, raising my voice just enough. “You being good for Grandma?”

“She’s been drawing wolves all morning,” Mireya said fondly. “She says they remind her of you.”

I smiled despite the lump in my throat. “Tell her I miss her, okay?”

“You can tell her yourself.”

There was a slight shuffle, and then Sarah’s shy voice came through the phone. “Hi, Raine.”

“Hi, sweet pea. How are you feeling today?”

“Good,” she said after a pause. “I made a picture of you. You’re running really fast and there’s a rainbow.”

“That sounds amazing. I wish I could see it.”

There was a pause, then she said, “I miss you.”

I closed my eyes. “I miss you too, munchkin.”

For a beat, neither of us spoke. The quiet buzz of the phone felt like a heartbeat between us.

“I’m proud of you, Raine,” Mireya said finally.

Her words made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain, and I swallowed hard. “Thanks, Mireya. For everything.”

After we hung up, I leaned back against the counter and let out a breath. The past two years had been a mix of hard lessons and small victories. I’d learned how to smile without feeling like I was breaking inside, how to joke without the sting of old scars, and how to stand tall even when my heart ached for a life I’d lost.

Mira clapped her hands. “Table 4."

I grabbed the plates and headed back out, weaving through the crowded tables.

Sometimes late at night, when the diner was quiet and the world outside dark, I’d close my eyes and remember the wolf I’d lost. The sister who had stolen everything from me. The Alpha who didn’t know what he’d done.