The entire diner tensed.
BIKER (cold, controlled): “Say that again.”
The boy stepped back, breathing fast, like every second was stealing his life.
BOY: “He said if I ever found the man with the scar… I had to tell you that line.”
The biker’s hand hovered near his jacket—right where something heavy was hidden.
But he didn’t draw it.
Not yet.
Instead, he leaned closer.
BIKER (quiet): “What was your father’s name?”
The boy hesitated.
That hesitation said everything.
Outside, a car door slammed.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
The boy turned toward the sound, panic exploding in his face.
BOY (urgent whisper): “He’s here…”
The biker didn’t look away from the boy.
BIKER (darkly calm): “Good.”
He finally stood fully, blocking the boy behind him.
The diner lights flickered.
And the front door began to open.
