Chapter Thirty
Laila’s POV
The air inside the bar reeked of spilled liquor, cheap sweat, and ruin.
By three in the morning, the crowd had finally dispersed, but not because they were satisfied. They left because there was nothing left to smash. Tables lay turned on their sides with broken legs snapping into splinters. The iron cage in the middle of the room was splattered with cheap ale and dark stains, its mesh bent out of shape. Worst of all, the massive glass mirror behind the bar—the one my father had installed twenty years ago when The Masks was built—was completely shattered, spiderwebbing out into thousands of sharp, jagged cracks across the wall.
Instead of making the thousands of dollars we needed to pay off the interest, we lost everything.
The angry mob had raided the cash
