Marta flipped the sign to Closed at exactly midnight. The diner was empty, except for the man in the corner booth. Same as every night.
He never ordered more than coffee. Black. No cream, no sugar. He always tipped well. Too well.
Tonight, she walked over. “You waiting for someone?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
The man looked up. Pale eyes, like smoke. “I’m waiting for the world to end,” he said.
She laughed, but he didn’t.
“I mean it,” he said, sipping his coffee. “It’s quiet places like this where endings begin.”
Marta glanced at the TV above the counter. Static. The radio behind the bar was silent. Her phone showed no signal.
She stepped back. “Is this a joke?”
He placed a silver coin on the table. It shimmered strangely.
“I liked your pancakes,” he said, and stood.
The diner lights flickered, then died.
Outside, the stars blinked out, one by one.
Marta stood alone in the dark, holding the coin.
It was warm. And pulsing.