The parking lot outside the diner reeked of burnt toast and oil. Zoey's sneakers slapped the pavement as she stormed away, phone clutched in one hand, her other fumbling for her keys.
"Zoey, wait!" Mark called after her.
She didn't stop.
Leah ran up beside her. "Please. Just talk to us. We get it—"
"No, you don't," Zoey snapped, spinning around. "You all sit there making lists and pretending you can solve a damn ghost math problem. But Mika's dead. And I'm next. I'm not waiting around for that."
Cole and Julian caught up, panting. "You think walking off alone makes you safer?" Cole barked. "That's exactly how Mika died!"
"I'm not her," Zoey hissed. "I'm not scared of pipes and shadows and premonitions."
Mark approached slowly. "It's not about fear, Zoey. It's about patterns. If we stay together—if we track the signs—we might have a shot."
Zoey shook her head. "I'm done tracking signs. I'm going to the salon. I have an appointment. I'm gonna do something normal before I lose my mind."
Leah grabbed her arm. "This isn't normal. That's the point."
Zoey yanked free. "Get your hands off me."
A heavy silence.
Mark stepped back, lowering his voice. "If you go alone, you're giving Death exactly what it wants."
Zoey's voice cracked, "Then maybe I deserve it."
She climbed into her car, slammed the door, and drove off.
The four left behind just stood there—helpless.
Meanwhile – "Divine Cuts & Color" Salon – 11:46 AM
The salon was warm, perfumed with lavender sprays and chemical dye. A soft indie playlist drifted through the air. Zoey sat in the middle chair, hair damp, wrapped in a black cape. The stylist—Mira—smiled through the mirror.
"What're we doing today, babe?"
Zoey forced a smile. "Cut it off. All of it. I want to feel… different."
Mira grinned. "Chop it is."
Scissors snipped. Water trickled. Somewhere in the back, a dryer buzzed like a sleeping machine.
Zoey closed her eyes. Different. That was the goal. New hair, new vibe, new fate.
The mirror in front of her flickered.
For a second, her reflection didn't move with her.
Zoey's eyes opened wide. She blinked—then it was gone.
"Did you see that?" she asked quietly.
Mira looked up. "See what?"
The hairdryer behind them stuttered, whirring like it was jammed.
Then something snapped.
Sparks flew from the wall outlet. The lights dimmed, then flared.
"What the hell—" Mira backed away. "That's not supposed to happen."
Zoey stood up too fast. The floor beneath her feet was slick with conditioner. She slipped—catching the edge of a nearby station to steady herself.
Her hand hit the hot curling iron.
She screamed—burned.
Mira rushed to unplug it—
—but the plug popped, arcing with sparks. A wire slithered loose, writhing like a snake.
The salon lights exploded one by one above them.
Zoey ran—cape still tied around her neck, feet sliding on slick tiles.
Water was running. Somewhere.
Fast.
Too fast.
A pipe beneath the wash station had burst, spraying the floor. A thick puddle soaked the power strip behind the counter.
Zoey slipped again—fell hard. Her head cracked the side of the counter.
She gasped. Blood. Pain. Her ankle twisted. She tried to crawl, nails scraping floor tile.
Then came the hum. A surge of electricity building.
The puddle reached the strip.
The air hissed.
The lights went white-hot—
And the whole salon erupted in sparks.
Zoey's body arched as current ripped through her. She convulsed once.
Twice.
Then her head hit the floor.
Hard.
Still.
The smell of burnt hair and ozone filled the air.
Outside, the clouds shifted slightly.
Another piece of Death's formula complete.