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Tomorrow, I’d wake up with a cold from the drenched dress.
Tonight, all I could do was spend every minute until morning weeping into my pillow.
For the pendant I couldn’t retrieve.
For the dreams that had fallen out of reach.
For Dad.
Next time, Pops. Promise.
Zach Sun:
Grand Regent.
Ninety minutes.
Ollie vB:
Pass.
Ollie vB:
Wicked party last night, Sun.
But I’m still recovering from the previous week’s sexcapades.
Romeo Costa:
You mean the legacy gala your hotel held?
Ollie vB:
Yep.
Zach Sun:
The one where 90% of attendees were on Social Security?
Ollie vB:
No one gives a hummer like a gummer.
Romeo Costa left the chat.
Zach Sun left the chat.
Ollie vB renamed the chat Social Security Administration.
Itilted the grimy shoe in my hand, studying it.
It was so worn out, I couldn’t make out the brand. I’d done some online research and narrowed it to either Vans or Converse.
By the power of deduction—and fucking logic—I guessed it was the cheapest out of the two. The girl looked too poor to afford air.
“And then she climbed over your gate, hopped to the other side, andbowed?” Romeo punched buttons on the panel to the cryochamber. “Are you sure you experienced it and not, well… dreamed it?”
Sweat drenched my shirt from our morning workout—notably not as taxing as my little run with Octi last night.
