Evalyne hit the state line doing ten miles over the limit, the highway unspooling in front of her like the world's longest, dullest runway.
New Jersey at night was a smear of sodium lamps and billboards. Casinos loomed on the horizon in glowing fonts that promised things she had never actually wanted: jackpots, buffets, uncomplicated fun.
The Moonlight's sign was smaller than she remembered.
Last time, she'd arrived half-drunk and clinging to Anna's arm, the club's neon crescent moon a blur above a door she'd been too busy panicking to really see. Tonight, she pulled into the gravel lot sober, alone, and with a briefcase full of cash on the passenger seat.
She killed the engine and sat for a moment, listening to her heart try to punch through her ribs.
You can still turn around, a rea
