04:31 AM
Diner, Crescent Hills

The pure frosty morning air glided through the ocean waves, carrying a salty tang of the sea. Waves crashed against the rocky cliff, sending a spray of mist to the air, while the water churned into a milky white before fading out.

Fragments of the warm caramel coffee oozed around the local diner bringing a welcoming scent. Considering it was before dawn, there was no distant chattering Lane could eavesdrop on while being drowned in her conversation.

Currently, Lane and Easton have taken a seat down in a booth around the corner. Its soft red and blue leather skin grazed her skin. The diner had a nostalgic feeling to it, with chequered tablecloths laid down on the surface and vintage posters hung up on the wall.

"How's your hand?" Easton asked, taking a sip out of his chocolate milkshake.

Lane's interest shifted towards her scarred fist, bandaged using a white cloth—it looked more red than white now—to stop the bleeding. She mumbled a short response, "It's fine, yours?"

He doesn't reply instantly. "Yeah...it's alright."

Without a warning, a blaring bang transpired from the front door, "Have you guys seen Mason?" Floyd's grand entrance gained the concern of a few waitresses. He took a seat next to Easton. "I can't find him anywhere."

"Mason?" Lane hadn't seen him since the wishing, not to be confused by the ritual, "Last time I saw him was at the well."

Floyd let out an overly exaggerated groan, plopping his head down.

"He's probably late again." Easton implied, stirring his drink with the straw.

"Maybe he slept in, we finished the wish at 2 right?" Lane spilled her thoughts logically.
Floyd doesn't bother to respond.

He cared about his friend. But Mason has always been the type to be tardy—proven by his attendance at school—and his mom was so caring to him, cradling a 14-year-old boy like a newborn baby.

Darcy—a waitress at the diner, who the group was familiar with. Was the one who continuously served them during their time here—made her way over to their booth.

She clutched a notepad in one of her hands and a ballpoint pen in the other. "Are you guys ready to order? Or just the usual?" asked Darcy, smiling softly at the young teenagers.

Easton handed over the menu to her, "The usual but can you add an extra milkshake?"
She chucked. "Of course."

When the food arrived, so did Evie, she mentioned something about her mom complaining to her because her grades were dropping like a landslide.

Mason's food remained untouched, it was for sure getting cold now. Easton eyed the meal, setting down his own—finished—plate, reaching for Mason's course.

"What-C'mon he's not even coming." He complained as his friend urged him to not steal his friend's food.

The voices came to a halt. No more clanging silverware or babbling. Lane couldn't take her eyes off her phone, the realization hit her like a trunk filled to the brim with rocks. Her lips parted, jaw tensed while she gripped the phone harshly.

Evie peered over her shoulder after noticing her friend's rigid body.

"Holy-What the." Words can't even begin to express what she felt.

Her body went stiff for a second, not able to comprehend everything at once.

The tightening aspect around the group only grew. Floyd and Easton share a glance of worry.

"What is it?" A raspy pitch laced with unease broke the tension.

"Lane? Did something happen?"

She didn't cry. She couldn't cry. She was in a state of shock, slowly loosening her grip on her phone. Her voice is croaky and hoarse but she manages through it.

" Mason's dead."