Penelope POV
"Drink it," Eliora says.
She slams a heavy crystal tumbler onto the sticky wood of the table. The amber liquid sloshes over the rim, stinging the fresh papercut on my thumb.
"I am still burning from the last one," I say.
"Good," Zaria snaps. She leans across the booth, her fingers digging into the edge of the table. Her knuckles are white. "Let it burn out the last three years of trash."
I lift the glass. The smell of cheap moonshine and heavy wolf pheromones fills my throat before the liquid even touches my tongue. This is not the clean, silent lounge Eliora took me to last month. This place sits on the edge of the Central City border. The air is thick with the scent of unwashed leather, stale sweat, and the damp musk of working pack wolves.
I tilt my head back. The alc
