Chapter Forty-Three

They stepped forward, out of the last fading frost, and Charles held the door open for them.

Warmth, grease, coffee, grilled onions, sugar, and comfort rolled out to meet them as they walked inside.

As they stepped fully inside, the door swinging shut behind them with a tired little jingle of a bell, the reaction was immediate.

“Mister Charles!”

“Miss LaDonna!”

“About time you came back—we were starting to worry!”

Calls rang out from behind the counter, overlapping, cheerful, utterly unselfconscious. A woman in a paper hat leaned over the flat-top, waving a spatula in greeting. Someone else popped their head out from the back, grinning like they’d just seen family walk in after a long absence.

Olivia froze for half a heartbeat.

They were… known here.

Miss LaDonna, completely unfazed, slid into a booth near the windows and patted the cracked vinyl bench beside her. Olivia followed, tail carefully tucked, taking in the place—the peeling pleather seats, the linoleum tabletops crazed with age, the hazy yellow lighting that softened every hard edge. It was the kind of old-fashioned greasy burger joint that smelled permanently of grilled onions and hot oil, a place that had absolutely seen better days and stubbornly refused to die anyway.

Charles lingered at the counter, leaning easily on his cane as he placed an order, chatting with the crew like an old regular before finally bringing a grin with him back to the booth.

Olivia couldn’t help herself.

“Okay,” she said, glancing at the faded signage on the walls, the hand-written specials board with prices that looked suspiciously like they hadn’t changed since the late ’80s. “Where are we? What Realm have you carried me off to now?”

Charles settled back into the booth, utterly relaxed, hands folded atop his cane.

“Welcome, my dear,” he said, smiling broadly, “to one of the best-kept secrets in Reality. Burgers and Shakes, in the Bluegrass region—Lexington, Kentucky. Mundane Realm.”

Olivia blinked. “Kentucky?”

Miss LaDonna nodded, amused. “It’s not really a secret,” she said. “It’s just his favorite place to eat.”

“Rightfully so!” Charles added cheerfully. “I’ve Walked many Realms across several realities, eaten meals from millions of cuisines—divine, infernal, mythic, and utterly impossible—but nothing beats the food at this one particular location.”

He leaned back, hands behind his head.

“If something ever happened to it,” he went on lightly, “I’d simply have to intervene. Perhaps tuck it away in a broom closet off the lobby for safekeeping.”

Olivia snorted softly, skeptical despite herself. It looked like… a burger joint. A little run-down, off the beaten path. She’d never even been to Kentucky, let alone Lexington. Hard to imagine it standing up to Walker Bird and Riverbee Gravy.

But she was hungry. And curious.

A minute later, a server appeared with a large tray piled high with greasy paper wrappers, setting it down with practiced care. Another followed with oversized styrofoam cups, straws already stabbed through their lids.

Charles thanked them warmly. They leaned in without hesitation, each taking a turn kissing his cheek before heading back to the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Dig in,” Charles said, already unwrapping a burger. “Plenty to go around. They’re all dressed alike—saves confusion.”

Olivia unwrapped hers.

Single thin patty. Soft bun. Thick slices of onion. A generous smear of bright yellow mustard. No cheese. No lettuce. No tricks.

She took a bite.

And the world stopped.

It was simple. Painfully simple. Exactly the sort of burger she’d eaten a hundred times growing up.

And yet—

It tasted like her first meal after starving for centuries.

Not flashy. Not enchanted. No hidden spices whispering secrets of other Realms. Just beef, salt, onion, mustard, bread—prepared with care, consistency, and no pretension whatsoever.

It felt real.

She understood then. Completely.

Charles could eat anything. Rich feasts, impossible flavors, meals crafted by gods or monsters or time itself. He probably had. Repeatedly.

But this—this was grounding. Honest. Comfort made edible.

She took another bite. Then fries—hot, salty, perfect. Then a long pull from her chocolate shake.

Oh.

That was a chocolate shake. No artisanal nonsense. No gold leaf essence. Just thick, cold, unapologetic chocolate, exactly what it claimed to be.

Olivia opened her mouth to say something—to tell him he was right, that she was stunned, that she finally understood—

Then she stopped.

No.

This food didn’t want commentary.

It deserved silence. Respect. Full attention.

Time for talk could come later.

Right now, there was only eating.

A short time later—after the proper respects had been paid to the meal—there was nothing left but a small mountain of grease-stained wrappers, crumpled just so, and the last stubborn dregs of chocolate shake clinging to the bottoms of their cups.

Olivia leaned back against the booth with a long, deeply satisfied groan, tail giving one lazy, contented flick.

“That,” she said at last, voice full and reverent, “was a full-on religious experience. I’ve never had anything that good before. I mean—” she gestured vaguely with one hand, as if trying to encompass every impossible meal she’d ever eaten since coming to the station, “—you’ve pulled some absolutely stunning things out of your coat, and I’ve loved every bite. But this? There are no words.”

Across from her, Charles and Miss LaDonna exchanged a glance.

Not smug.Not triumphant.Just… pleased.

“That’s the secret,” Charles said quietly.

Miss LaDonna nodded, folding her hands on the table. “Now you’re starting to see.”

Olivia looked between them, listening intently.

“It doesn’t matter where you travel,” Miss LaDonna continued, her voice gentle but certain. “What Realms you Walk. What wonders you see, or how strange or magnificent they are.”

Charles picked it up seamlessly. “What matters is what is. What something truly is, at its core.”

He tapped one finger lightly on the table, near the empty wrappers.

“That food didn’t pretend to be anything else. No enchantment. No spectacle. Just itself—honest, consistent, and made with care. Its true form.”

Miss LaDonna smiled at Olivia, warmth in her eyes. “Just like you.”

Olivia felt something settle inside her then, soft and profound. Not a revelation that struck like lightning—but the kind that clicks, quietly, the way a door finally closes flush in its frame.

They lingered there, talking unhurriedly. About the station. About the Realms. About how easy it is to mistake novelty for meaning, and how easy it is to forget the value of the simple and sincere. About how truth doesn’t always shout—sometimes it just sits there patiently, waiting for you to notice it.

And as Olivia listened, full and relaxed and completely herself, she finally understood what they had been teaching her all along—ever since that first day at the strange little TV station that looked abandoned at first glance.

Not how to become something else.

But how to recognize, honor, and live as what she already was.