Same expensive paper. Same neat printing. But this time, just two words:
LAST CHANCE.
I crumpled it up, threw it in the trash with the others. Showered. Changed into fresh clothes that didn't smell like three weeks of couch-surfing and fear. Tried to pretend my hands weren't shaking.
The smart thing would be to hire a lawyer. The smarter thing would have been to never sign that contract in the first place. But I'd blown past smart about a hundred thousand dollars ago.
So I did what I did best: pretended everything was fine. Went back to work. Ignored the knowing looks from my coworkers who'd all apparently received calls about my "upcoming opportunity." Poured drinks. Practiced linework at the tattoo shop. Acted like the sword hanging over my head was just another Thursday accessory.
It worked for exactly one week.
The rain started around midnight, Seattle showing off with the kind of downpour that turned streets into rivers and windshield wipers into suggestions. I'd picked up a closing shift at the bar, partly for the money, mostly to avoid going home to my empty apartment and the weight of what waited for me there.
"You sure you're good to drive?" Marcus, the other bartender, watched me count out my tips with concern thatwould've been sweet if I wasn't so fucking tired. "This weather's supposed to get worse."
"I'm fine." I shoved the damp bills into my pocket, seventy bucks that felt like pennies compared to what sat in my bank account. "Just tired."
"You've been tired a lot lately." He moved closer, voice dropping. "If someone's bothering you, if you need help—"
"Jesus, does everyone think I need saving?" The words came out sharper than intended, but I was so sick of concerned looks and careful questions. "I'm fine. The weather's fine. Everything's fucking fine."
He backed off, hands raised. "Okay. Just... be careful out there."
Careful. Right. Like being careful had ever been my strong suit.
The parking lot was a lake with ambitions, water ankle-deep and cold enough to soak through my boots immediately. I ran for my car, keys already in hand, rain plastering my hair to my head and making my bar shirt cling like a second skin.
The engine turned over once. Twice. Then nothing but a clicking sound that might as well have been the universe laughing at me.
"No. No, no, no." I turned the key again, foot pumping the gas like that had ever helped anything. "Come on, you piece of shit. Not tonight."
Click. Click. Click.
I slammed my hand against the steering wheel, horn blaring into the empty night. Of course. Of fucking coursemy car would die tonight, in this rain, when I was alone and exhausted and so tired of running I could barely see straight.
My phone—the burner I'd bought to avoid them—showed no signal. Because of course it didn't. The universe wasn't done teaching me lessons about thinking I was clever.
I sat there for a moment, rain drumming on the roof, considering my options. Walk home in this weather and probably drown. Sleep in the car and deal with it in the morning. Or...
The tap on my window made me scream.
A man stood there, umbrella in hand, looking like every stranger-danger warning my mother had ever given me. Tall, broad-shouldered, face obscured by shadows and rain.
I cracked the window an inch. "I'm fine. Just waiting for AAA."
"In this weather?" His voice was pleasant, concerned. Normal. Which somehow made it worse. "That could take hours. I've got jumper cables in my van, if you want to give it a try."
Every instinct screamed no. But what was I going to do, sit here all night? I was already soaked, already fucked, already living on borrowed time.
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."
I popped the hood, stepping out into the rain that immediately drenched me all over again. The man—mid-thirties, clean-shaven, forgettable face—was already pulling cables from a white van that looked like every serial killer vehicle in every true crime show I'd ever watched.
"Battery's probably dead," he said, voice raised over the rain. "This weather's been killing them all week."
I nodded, hugging myself against the cold, watching him attach the cables with practiced efficiency. Something felt off, but then again, everything had felt off for weeks. Paranoia was my new default setting.
"Try it now," he called.
