Azalea
The city felt cold today. Everything had felt cold since my sister Amira went missing three months ago. I pulled my coat tight around me. My hands shook, not from the cold, but because I was scared.
Another job rejection letter sat in my pocket. The words hurt: We regret to inform you... I had heard those words too many times. I only had two weeks of pay left. Fourteen days before I would be homeless.
I stopped outside a hotel I’d never noticed before, though I’d walked this street a hundred times. “The Caelian.” Gold letters gleamed above revolving doors that probably cost more than my rent.
I stepped inside, trying to appear more put-together than I felt. The scent of polished wood and something floral hit me as soon as I entered, followed by the soft hum of music from the gra
