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On a bitter night in the Colorado mountains, Sarah Williams stood alone inside her diner, Midnight Haven. The register held just $47. Beneath it, a foreclosure notice stared back—seven days until the bank claimed the building, and with it, the last living piece of her late husband Robert’s dream.
Outside, Highway 70 vanished beneath a blizzard. Snow buried the gas pumps and erased the road. The storm shook the windows, and the neon sign sputtered like it might give up for good. Sarah considered closing early, letting the cold win—until a low rumble rose through the wind. Not a snowplow. Headlights pierced the whiteout. Motorcycles. Fifteen of them.
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