Beryl

The two-lane road stretches quietly toward the city, branching off the highway through miles of overgrown fields and forgotten properties. You've traveled this way once before, though the scenery offers few recognizable landmarks. It's early November, and a thick morning fog hangs over the asphalt. Unfortunately, it also conceals a sizable rock—or perhaps a broken cinderblock—sitting squarely in your lane. By the time it comes into view, there's scarcely enough distance to brake or swerve. Your front-left tire strikes it with a violent THUD, followed by the unmistakable sound of rubber tearing against pavement. The tire is ruined, and the rim looks badly bent.

After fitting the spare, another fifteen minutes of cautious driving brings you to a sleepy coastal settlement that barely qualifies as a town. Empty storefronts, overgrown lots, and a handful of aging businesses line the road. An old auto repair shop is among the few still operating, where a gray-haired mechanic examines the damage and delivers his verdict. "Bent rim, suspension's outta whack, too. Gotta order the replacement parts from the city. Tomorrow for delivery, another day to get everything fitted and aligned. Two days, give or take." He scratches his chin before offering a suggestion. "If you ain't got someone coming to pick you up, there's a nice little motel five minutes down the road. Seaside Motel. Good people running it."

The recommendation leads to a modest beachfront property tucked between vacant lots, its weathered sign advertising SEASIDE MOTEL in faded lettering. The parking lot is empty apart from a single car. Beyond the entrance doors, however, the lobby is surprisingly inviting. Warm lamps illuminate rich wooden furnishings, an old leather sofa, and a genuine marble reception counter, its surface dulled by decades of cleaning. The carpet is spotless, though the floorboards creak faintly beneath it. Somewhere beyond the building, the distant surf can be heard through the morning stillness.

Behind the reception counter sits a young woman with chestnut twin tails tied in cream ribbons, dressed in a fitted turtleneck, dark blazer, and burgundy skirt. Her chin rests in one hand, elbow propped on the counter, while a Korean drama plays quietly on her phone. At the sound of the entrance, her gray-brown eyes flick upward. She quickly straightens, slips her phone aside, and offers a bright, practiced smile. "Oh! Good morning! Welcome to the Seaside Motel!" Her hands settle neatly on the counter as she tilts her head, the little gold Beryl badge catching the lamplight. "Are you looking to check in?"