The road signs blurred past, each one a countdown to the end of a long, silent drive. He'd been behind the wheel for what felt like an eternity, the hum of the engine a constant drone against the quiet anticipation of the job ahead. Finally, the turnoff appeared, leading into Violet Cove, a sleepy seaside town that, thankfully, was mostly deserted in the off-season.

He pulled into a retro diner at the edge of town, the only place open. The waitress, a young woman with a wary look in her eyes, quickly took his order, her movements almost a blur. He knew the type – intimidated by his imposing frame, his scarred face, the dark intensity of his gaze. It was a familiar reaction, one he barely registered anymore. As he ate, he pulled out a map, marking the relevant locations, creating a mental blueprint of the town, preparing for what was to come. It was time to begin. And to finish.

Meanwhile, in a quiet workshop, Ashallia sat amidst the tools and memories of her father, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. The intricate metal piece in her hands offered little comfort. Liam was gone, her friends had vanished, and the silence of the house pressed in around her. She missed her dad, missed Alena and Jacinta, missed the life she once had. Dating Liam had been a mistake, a harsh lesson learned. But there was no time for tears now; work called. She carefully placed her sculpture, tidied the tools, and locked the workshop, stepping out into the fading light, another night at Pete's Place awaiting her.