Or therapy.
Probably therapy.
My phone suddenly buzzes in my pocket, and I dig it out.
Priya:Kid from bay one didn’t make it. Sorry.
I stare at the screen until the words blur.
Another death.
Another failure.
Another set of eyes I’ll see when I try to sleep.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and stand, my body protesting every movement. I need to get back out there. People are still dying, and apparently, I’m the only one twisted enough to keep showing up for front-row seats.
As I’m pushing through the break room door, I nearly collide with Suzie.
“Hey, girl,” she says, catching my arm to steady me. “You look like hell.”
“Feel like it too.”
“You heading home after shift?”
I glance at the wall clock. 23:15.Another forty-five minutes and I’m free. “That’s the plan.”
“Want to grab a drink? A bunch of us are hitting up that new place downtown… Sins & Spirits? Supposed to be biker-owned or something. Bit rough, but the drinks are strong, and they’re cheap…score!”
The name slams into my chest.
Sins & Spirits.
I’ve heard it before.
Seen it mentioned in police reports when trauma cases come through with connections to gang activity. Dangerous, violent, and the kind of place respectable people avoid.
So why does something in me lurch toward it, dragged by a force I can’t resist?
“I don’t think so,” I say, even as my pulse kicks up. “I’m exhausted.”
“Come on. One drink. You need it after tonight.”
She’s not wrong.
But that pull, that inexplicable, irrational pull toward a place I’ve never been, it scares me more than any nightmare.
“Rain check,” I tell her, before forcing a smile.
She shrugs. “Suit yourself. But you’re gonna burn out if you don’t blow off steam, Sloane.”
“I’ll be sure to work on that.”
Suzie heads back to the emergency room, and I stand in the hallway, trying to convince my feet to follow her.
Instead, I pull out my phone and google Sins & Spirits.
The first result is a minimalist website with a black background and crimson text.
