In December 1999, Luna stopped at the Fairpoint Diner off Route 9, a place she'd passed a hundred times but never entered. The air smelled of burnt coffee and something floral she couldn't place. An old woman in a blue apron sat alone in a booth, staring at a polaroid she wouldn't let Luna see fully — only the corner, where a hand reached up from dark water. The woman spoke about her daughter, lost in the lake twenty years ago, and the photograph that arrived in the mail each year since, always on the anniversary, always from a town that doesn't exist anymore. Luna left with a copy of the menu and the feeling of cold fingers brushing her wrist when she touched the door. The photograph was never explained. The woman was gone the next time Luna passed by. The diner is still there, but the booth is always empty now.

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