Terminator - Dying Light

Chapter Five

Fiona rushed into the restaurant, her heart racing as her eyes quickly darted to the clock on the wall. She was late, and the place was buzzing with activity. She hurried across the crowded dining area, weaving through tables, and headed straight for the staff-only entrance. As she walked, she smoothed out the creases in her uniform, trying to compose herself. She pushed open the door, moving quickly through the bustling kitchen, and down a narrow hallway leading to the staff room.

Another waitress appeared beside her, giving her a knowing look. "You're late," she remarked.

Fiona just sighed, not bothering to explain, and continued on her way. She clocked in, then retraced her steps back through the kitchen and out behind the counter. Grabbing her notepad and pen, she immediately got to work, picking up plates from under the heat lamps and delivering them to the waiting tables, trying to catch up with the hectic pace of the day.

With two plates balanced in her hands, Fiona moved quickly across the restaurant to the other side. She set the plates down in front of the diners with a polite smile, then swiftly pulled out her notepad as she approached the next table across from them. Greeting the customers with a warm smile, she jotted down their order, her pen moving quickly over the paper. Once she had everything noted, she ripped the sheet off the notepad and handed it through the window to the cook, making sure to keep the flow of service moving smoothly.

As Fiona moved past another table, a firm hand reached out and stopped her. She looked down at the man who had caught her attention, then stepped back slightly, lifting her notepad and readying her pen.

"What can I get ya?" she asked, placing the pen on the paper, prepared to take his order.

He gave her a soft smirk. "Your number, please?"

Fiona sighed, placing one hand on her hip as she gave him a cocky smirk in return. "Darling, in your dreams."

The man glanced at her name tag, then back up into her eyes. "Fiona. Pretty name," he commented, his voice smooth.

"Yeah?" she chuckled, her amusement clear. "Well, if you're gonna be getting my name, I should at least get yours."

She looked at him with a sly smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen while she was rushing around.

"Darcy," he said, offering his hand. She shook it, taking a moment to look him over. His messy, dirty blonde hair fell slightly into his dull blue eyes, giving him a rugged charm. He had a well-built frame—strong and fit, but not overly muscular, like someone who took care of himself without going to extremes. He wore a blue jacket that looked like it came from a construction site or factory, paired with a white shirt and faded blue jeans with rips at the knees.

"Sorry," he added with a sheepish grin, "you're just the prettiest girl I've seen."

Fiona smiled, her cheeks warming slightly at the compliment, but she kept her playful tone. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but I'm still not giving you my number."

"Fine, fine," Darcy chuckled, backing off with a smile. "Can I just get a cup of coffee?"

"Sure thing," Fiona replied before heading off to fetch it.

As she returned with the coffee, she caught sight of the TV mounted on the wall, which was playing a news broadcast. The scene showed a crime scene just a few streets away from a school, where a man had been gunned down. Fiona's heart skipped a beat as the screen displayed the victim's name: Thomas Harris, dead.

She gasped, her hand trembling slightly as she set the coffee down in front of Darcy.

"Are you okay?" Darcy asked, noticing the sudden change in her demeanour.