The diner on Route 9 hasn't changed its menu since 1987. The coffee is terrible. Half the town eats there every day anyway. Aliyah sits at the counter, one hand wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug. The coffee inside has gone cold twenty minutes ago. She hasn't taken a sip in ten. Petunia lies at her feet, a massive black Newfoundland with her head resting on her paws, watching the door. The fog pressed against the windows like something alive, swallowing the streetlamp across the road until only a soft orange bleed remained. Betty, the waitress, refilled Aliyah's mug without asking. "You gonna drink that or just stare at it?" "Both," Aliyah said, and Betty snorted. Petunia's ears shifted. A low rumble started in her chest, barely audible, like a generator kicking on miles away. Aliyah set the mug down. "What is it?" Petunia didn't look at her. She kept watching the door. Betty glanced toward the entrance. "Expecting someone?" "No," Aliyah said. But her voice caught. The bell above the door stayed silent. The parking lot was empty. Still, Petunia's growl deepened, and Aliyah felt it in her ribs before she heard it—a vibration, faint but steady, coming up through the floor. She slid off the stool. Petunia stood, rigid, her massive frame blocking the aisle. "Petunia," Aliyah whispered. "What do you feel?" The dog didn't answer. She never did. But her head tilted, just slightly, toward the back wall of the diner—toward the kitchen, the storeroom, and the empty field beyond. Aliyah reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The symbol Johnny had shown her this morning. The same one Bob found carved into the oak tree. She pressed it flat against the counter. And the vibration stopped. Silence. The kind that fills a room after a scream. Betty wiped the same spot on the counter three times. "Aliyah," she said, her voice low. "Maybe you ought to take that dog and go home." But Aliyah was already pulling on her jacket. "Not yet." She knelt beside Petunia, one hand on the dog's thick, warm neck. "Show me," she said. Petunia turned, walked to the door, and waited. Outside, the fog had started to hum.