Then he heard laughter.
He opened a drawer.
Inside was an old black-and-white photograph.
Beneath it sat a folded leather patch.
He picked up the patch.
His fingers tightened around it.
Not because he wanted violence.
Because he remembered the promise he had made decades earlier.
Never again.
Elias walked into the diner.
He turned on one light.
Three shadows moved outside.
A bottle smashed against the front door.
Then the door burst open.
Cole entered.
"Where's your tough-guy attitude now?"
Elias stood behind the counter.
"You've made your point."
Cole laughed.
"No. We haven't."
He grabbed a chair and threw it.
It crashed into the wall.
Elias did not move.
"You should leave."
Cole stepped closer.
"You don't tell me what to do."
"I am now."
Cole swung.
Elias moved.
Only one step.
Cole's fist struck empty air.
Elias caught his wrist.
For half a second, the young man froze.
Then Elias released him.
"Go home."
Cole stared.
Something about the old man's movement had frightened him.
Not the strength.
The precision.
It had been too fast.
Too practiced.
Cole backed away.
"This isn't over."
Elias watched them leave.
"No," he whispered.
"It isn't."