Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 41

**Charlotte**

Walking into Nanna’s with Charlie on one side and Blake on the other feels like stepping into a scene I wasn’t cast for. I’m not used to the attention they bring. I’m used to slipping through doors quietly, tying on my apron, doing the work, and leaving without anyone knowing my name. Sophie looks up from behind the counter the second the bell above the door chimes. Her eyes flick to Charlie, then to me, then to Blake, and something passes over her face before she replaces it with a smile. “Well,” she says, voice bright. “Aren’t we popular this morning?” Charlie grins like he can’t help it. “Morning, Soph.”

“Morning, trouble,” she replies, and points at the booth near the window with her chin. “Sit. All of you.” Blake opens his mouth, but Sophie cuts him off without even looking at him. “I wasn’t asking,” she says again, calm and cheerful, like it’s a joke. “Sit.” Blake’s turns into an easy smile. He glances at me, then at Charlie, then obeys. Charlie slides into the booth first, and I end up across from them for half a second before I remember I’m meant to be working. “I’ve got to start my shift,” I say. Sophie waves a hand at me like I’m being dramatic. “You can start in ten minutes. Sit down and eat something first.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically. Sophie’s eyes narrow just a fraction. “Charlotte.” So I sit.

The booth is warm from the heater blasting near the window. The smell of coffee and butter settles around me like something I could get used to if I let myself. Charlie looks relaxed in a way he hasn’t been for a while, shoulders looser, cheeks flushed from the walk. I think his body believes we’re safe in here. Blake sits with his elbows on the table, hands clasped loosely, posture controlled. He looks calm, but his eyes keep flicking toward the door, then the windows, then back to us, like he’s tracking movement. Shanti hums faintly in the back of my mind. Safe, she murmurs. Sophie appears with three plates of eggs and toast. Something hot and filling that makes my stomach tighten with that instinct to refuse, but it’s not just for me, it’s for all of us, and somehow that makes it easier to accept. Charlie digs in immediately, and Blake picks up his fork slowly, eyes flicking to me. I take a bite, and the door chimes again.

People start filing in, and at first it’s just the usual early crowd, a couple of older men who always sit at the same table and talk about the weather and jobs. Then there’s the woman with tired eyes who orders coffee black, but then more come in. Teen boys in school uniforms with hockey bags slung over their shoulders. A few parents I’ve never seen here before. A group of men in work boots and heavy jackets who look like they should be at a job site, not ordering pancakes at seven in the morning. The diner fills fast. Charlie looks up, surprised. “Is it always like this?” Sophie bustles past with a pot of coffee in her hand. “Never,” she calls back over her shoulder. “Not even close.” The door chimes again, and Joey strides in with two other guys from the team, loud and grinning. “Oi,” Joey says as he spots our booth. “There you are. We thought you ditched.” Blake lifts a hand in a small wave. “Sit down.” Joey slides into the booth beside Charlie, shoving his shoulder playfully. “New kid. You coming to the game this weekend or what?” Charlie’s grin flashes, half proud, half shy. “Yeah.”

More people keep coming in, and suddenly there are no empty tables. Sophie is calling orders toward the kitchen. Plates are clattering. The cook is swearing under his breath in the back. I stand quickly, excuse myself and tie my apron before I start moving. My feet fall into the rhythm quickly. Today is different. Everyone looks at me. They smile when I bring coffee. They tell me thank you like they mean it. They ask my name and tell me I’m doing a good job. They leave tips that make my hand shake when I pick them up. There are five dollars under one plate, ten under another. Coins left on purpose, not forgotten. I tell myself it’s just because they’re in a good mood. The diner is busy, because people do that sometimes, but it happens too often to be a coincidence. Sophie catches my eye as she passes, and her mouth curves into a grin. “This is great,” she says quietly, leaning in close enough that only I hear. “We’re never this busy.” I swallow. “Yeah. It’s… a lot.”

“It’s a blessing,” she replies, and she squeezes my shoulder once like she’s proud, then moves on again.

I glance toward the booth. Blake is still there, but he isn’t eating anymore. He’s watching the room with that calm focus that makes my chest pull faintly, like he’s keeping the whole place in his peripheral. Charlie is laughing with Joey and the other boys, shoulders relaxed, hands moving as he talks about hockey. Now and then, Charlie glances up at me, checking. Now and then, Blake’s eyes find mine, just for a heartbeat, and then he looks away like he’s trying not to make me feel trapped. Shanti hums again. *Pack,* she murmurs. I almost drop a plate, but I steady myself and keep moving. The morning rush doesn’t really end. It just… eases slightly, enough that Sophie can breathe. By the time she finally nods at me and says I can take five minutes, my legs ache, and my apron is damp from wiping tables, but the tip jar is heavier than I’ve ever seen it. Sophie leans against the counter, cheeks flushed from running. “See?” she says. “Told you. Blessing.” She jerks her chin toward the back. “Take the trash out when you’ve got a second, love.”

“Alright,” I say, and grab the bag from under the counter. It’s heavier than usual, too, stuffed with plates scraped clean and napkins and coffee grounds. I haul it through the back door, out into the alley, and towards the dumpster that smells strongly of rot. I freeze with the trash bag in my hands and glance around the alley, suddenly aware of how quiet it is out here, how the diner noise is muffled behind the door, how the snow makes everything softer. Shanti lifts her head inside me, and my spine straightens. *Danger,* she whispers.

My breath catches. I take one cautious step back. The rotten smell thickens. Then something moves behind the dumpster, and a wolf steps out. This wolf looks scraggly and wrong, fur patchy and matted, ribs visible under its coat, eyes too bright and too hungry. Its lips pull back from its teeth, and the smell of rot pours off it like a warning. My body locks. The wolf lunges. And I scream.