The flickering neon sign of the diner cast an oily sheen across Amelia’s face as she watched him. He was late, but she'd known he would be. The way her palms were slick with sweat – the tiny tremor in her jaw – was a testament to the anticipation churning within her. He finally stumbled through the door, eyes darting around. She knew the pattern. The same hesitant shuffle, the same apologetic half-smile. He was just like her, terrified of the world suddenly tilting on its axis. And he was about to discover, in the most unpleasant way possible, just how fragile that world truly was.
He slid into the booth, his hand brushing against hers. A jolt, like static electricity, ran up her arm. He flinched, recognizing the sensation. She’d known he would. She'd spent weeks researching the precise trigger. "Sorry I'm late," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. Amelia took a deep breath, the metallic tang of blood suddenly familiar in her mouth. She forced a smile. “No problem. I was just admiring the wallpaper.”
The waiter came, and she ordered a coffee and a water, ensuring the water was untouched. He ordered a burger and fries, and she knew he wouldn't finish it. He never did. He'd find it too difficult. When the waiter left, she reached across the table and picked up his glass of water. A single drop, carefully placed. He wouldn't know until it was too late.