The diner hadn't changed in five years. Same flickering menu board. Same busted jukebox looping forgotten jazz. He ordered his usual—grilled cheese and tomato soup. Booth #6. Seat by the window. He didn't need the waitress to speak.
Around him, people were laughing. A woman kissed her boyfriend's hand. A child tugged at her father's sleeve. It was all theater. Julian sketched in his notebook. Lines turned to symbols. A figure with hollow eyes stared back at him from the page, chains wrapped around its ribs, its mouth sewn shut with thorns. He paused and whispered, "That's me, isn't it?"
He snapped the book shut. His reflection in the diner window didn't match his face. For a heartbeat, he saw someone else—older, paler, smiling.