My new job became one of the better parts of that dreamlike state. I met all kinds of people. Most were polite. Professional. A few, though, looked at me sideways, as if the role came with unspoken extras—as if I might be persuaded to offer additional services.
Whenever my thoughts drifted back to my old job, or my father, I stabbed at them until they vanished. Quick. Ruthless. The way you kill something small before it has time to hurt you.
Sometimes I had nightmares about Sophie’s medical bed—my body pinned in place, the smell of disinfectant sharp in my nose—but there was nothing I could do about my subconscious. It did what it wanted, when it wanted.
So I did what they told me.
I followed their advice.
I obeyed.
Without thought.
Without autonomy.
Without choice.
I obeyed.
???
“Good evening and welcome to Dominion,” I said brightly to the middle-aged couple stepping through the gold-framed doors.
The man immediately pulled out a twenty-pound note and handed it to me.
“Have one on us,” he said, his hand closing around his wife’s as she smiled and let herself be tugged along.
“Thank you so much,” I said, genuinely shocked by the gesture.
They were clearly married—matching gold bands, no hesitation in their touch—so it wasn’t creepy. She wore a classy black dress, understated but elegant. He was in a tailored black suit that looked worn in rather than rented. Comfortable. Familiar.
I watched them point excitedly toward a table as they headed inside. They looked happy—like people who functioned well together. No one ever really knew what happened behind closed doors, but they gave the impression of something… normal.
I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket. Since I didn’t work the floor or the gaming tables, I’d have to declare direct cash tips. They wouldn’t catch me out—I’d read every rule in the online employee handbook during training.
Two minutes later, Nick was standing in front of me.
“What did he give you?”
I slid my hand into my pocket and handed him the note without argument. This wasn’t new. It wouldn’t be the last time. His suspicion of me had no real foundation, and I’d learned there was no point trying to reason with it.
“A tip,” I said evenly.“He said—to quote—have one on them.”
Nick unfolded the note, inspected it like it might confess to something, then refolded it neatly. When he tried to pass it back, I shook my head.
“Keep it.”
A small group was approaching the entrance, and I shifted my weight, ready to greet them.
Nick grabbed my wrist.
“Did I say I was done with you?”
My gaze dropped—not to his face, but to the demon inked across his hand.
Black smoke-like curls snaked down his fingers, wrapping the knuckles, bleeding into the joints. The demon itself was rendered in the same chaotic style—dark wings stretched wide, arms extended, palms turned outward as if in surrender or warning. The lines weren’t clean. They were jagged. Violent. Intentionally imperfect.
Messy. Dark. Brutal.
