“Table,” Isla says without missing a beat.
Little traitor, I think to myself with a sardonic laugh. Sighing, I follow Daniil and Isla to a table in the corner of the quiet little diner.
Once upon a time, this place might’ve been charming. A little while after that, it might’ve been refreshingly old-school. Now, it’s just straight-up depressing. The jukebox is cracked and cobwebby, the grooves between floor tiles hold dirt older than I am, and the air has a musty smell that just makes me inexplicably sad.
“Menus are right there on the table. Once you’re ready to order, just ring-a-ding-ding on your table bell and I’ll be over in a jiff,” the waitress says, flashing a bright smile. She’s the only thing in this place that has much life left.
“Table bell,” Daniil mutters. “Jesus.”
“We’re
