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The Mountain View Diner was a staple of Pinewood Falls. Its checkered floors and wood-paneled walls radiated a warm, worn-in charm. Locals filled the booths, laughing between bites of food, sharing stories as the lunchtime bustle moved around them. The scent of sizzling butter from breakfast still hung in the air, blending with the savory aromas of the lunch rush. It was a comforting place, one where people didn’t just eat—they lingered, connected, made memories. But for Sawyer, the familiarity only sharpened the edges of his unease.

Slipping into a corner booth, the leather seat creaked beneath him. The sensation was oddly grounding, even as his mind churned. He picked up the laminated menu, scanning it without really seeing the words. His eyes moved across the list of items, but his brain stayed stuck elsewhere, re-playing in his head like an unwelcome echo: “They know. You’re running out of time.”

Sawyer’s attention drifted to the steady hum of conversation around him, the voices blending into a low murmur. The clink of silverware sounded distant, like background noise to the whirl of thoughts he couldn’t shut off. Was it a mistake coming here?

He let the menu drop to the table with a soft thud, his hands curling around the edge of it. Across the room, a group of teenagers laughed over milkshakes, their carefree chatter so loud it momentarily cut through his thoughts. They don’t know how easy they have it, he thought bitterly, the weight of his own troubles pressing harder.

His finger tapped absently on the edge of the table, wondering if anyone could tell how restless he felt beneath the calm facade.

Get a grip, he told himself. But it was easier said than done.

A waitress appeared beside him, her kind eyes offset by the no-nonsense demeanor of someone used to managing the midday crowd.

“Visiting or new in town?" she asked, pencil hovering over her notepad.

"Guess I stick out, huh?"

She chuckled, glancing around the room. “You’re not one of the regulars. Here for the rally?”

Sawyer hesitated. "Sort of. I work for the senator."

The waitress leaned in, lowering her voice. The faint scent of spearmint and cigarettes followed her breath. "If I were you, I’d keep that under wraps. Folks around here aren’t too thrilled about Masterson, not with what’s happening to our water."

The weight of her words settled in the bottom of his stomach. "Thanks for the warning."

Her pencil moved to the notepad. "What can I get you?"

He glanced at the menu, barely registering the options. "Any recommendations?"

"Well, today’s special is our house-made pot roast sandwich with hand-cut fries and a pickle spear. Or if you want something lighter, our Cranberry Turkey Salad’s a local favorite—comes with dried cranberries, candied pecans, and maple balsamic dressing. And,” she added with a grin, “you can’t leave without trying our apple cider doughnuts. Baked fresh every morning.”

“Make it the pot roast sandwich. And yeah, maybe an apple cider doughnut to go.”

“Good choice,” she said, scribbling down the order. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

As the waitress moved off, Sawyer leaned back in his seat. Framed photographs lined the walls. Mount Washington in every season—snow-covered peaks, blazing autumn colors, and lush summer greenery. The windows revealed a view of the mountains in the distance, reminding him just how remote Pinewood Falls was.

The waitress returned a moment later, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Food’ll be up in no time.”

Sawyer managed a smile until she turned away. His eyes flicked toward the door, nerves setting in as he stirred the coffee. Then he saw her.

A woman in a worn leather jacket slipped inside, the wind gusting behind her. Her eyes swept the room, alert, scanning until they locked on him. She moved quickly, sliding into the seat across from him, hands trembling as she reached for the coffee.

"Do you mind?" she asked, her voice tight.

“Looks like you need it more than me,” Sawyer said, sliding the cup toward her.

“Thanks.” She added sugar and took a long sip, the warmth seeming to calm her frayed edges. “Cold for spring. Don’t remember it being this bad.”

“Things are a changin’,” he replied.

“I can’t believe you just used one of Masterson’s slogans on me.”

"Who do you think came up with it?" He gave a playful bow of his head, tipping an imaginary hat with the showmanship of a ringmaster.

If things were different—if the world wasn’t closing in on them—he might’ve asked her out. But even now, windswept and anxious, she was out of his league.

The waitress returned, setting his plate in front of him. “Didn’t mention you had company coming,” she teased. “Want to get anything for her?”

She shook her head. “I’ll just steal some of his.”

The waitress grinned. “Suit yourself. If you’re still hungry after she eats all your food, let me know.”

Sawyer waited until the waitress was out of earshot. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Glad you made it."

“I couldn’t pass up the invitation,” she said with forced levity, though the tension in her eyes betrayed her.

Sawyer exhaled slowly, pulling a small thumb drive from his pocket. Sliding it across the table, his hand lingered as if reluctant to let it go. “Everything you need is on there—documents, recordings, even some of Masterson’s private emails. It’s all laid out. Crystal Springs, the water deal—it’s bigger than we thought.”

“Before all this, I didn’t understand how companies like Crystal Springs operated. Sure, I knew they were about profit. But this?” She shook her head. “They’re predators, Sawyer. And we’ve all been blind to it.”

Sawyer leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Most people don’t want to see it. That’s how companies like this survive. They buy the water rights, lock entire towns into ironclad contracts, and start bottling. By the time the locals figure out what’s happening, it’s too late. The wells are dry, the streams are poisoned, and they’re stuck buying back their own water—at a premium.”

Her brows furrowed. “And they sell it like it’s some kind of gift. ‘Bringing jobs back to America.’ What a joke.”

“Exactly.” His gaze swept the other patrons, his jaw tightening. “What they don’t advertise is the fallout. The environmental destruction from their plants, the small towns they bankrupt, or the families left with nothing but undrinkable water. They peddle the lie that they’re saving the community, but they’re robbing us blind and erasing the future at the same time.”

Picking up the drive, her fingers tightened around it. “That’s why we have to do this. Expose them. Wake people up to the truth.”

“Once this gets out, we’re targets,” Sawyer said, his voice grim. “They’ll come after us, and they won’t stop.”

Her eyes locked on his. “Let them come. If we don’t do this, who will?”

Sawyer’s expression hardened. “You’re right. I can’t stand by anymore. Masterson’s in deep, and the people of Pinewood Falls deserve the truth.”

“You’re putting yourself out there, more than I am.” She stared at the thumb drive, then took a deep breath. “They’ll know it’s you.”

“I’ve been backing the wrong horse for too long,” he admitted, lowering his voice. “I thought I could change things from the inside, but I’ve seen too much. I can’t just sit on the sidelines anymore.”

“Brave of you, standing up to them. Not many would.”

He shook his head. “It’s not bravery. It’s survival.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, sharing the food as the reality of what they were about to do settled over them.

She slipped the thumb drive into her jacket. “They won’t know what hit them.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will,” she replied, though they both knew caution might not be enough.

Sawyer slid a small manila envelope across the table. “Here—backup. In case anything happens to me.”

She tucked it into her jacket. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said quietly. “But we both know the risks.”

They shared a final, solemn glance. She stood, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she headed for the door, pushing through and out into the cold.

Sawyer was once again alone with his thoughts. He watched her go, a knot of dread tightening in his gut. Once the truth came out, there would be no going back. No running.

And no guarantee they’d make it out alive.