“Left, then right," Quinn murmured into Hazel's ear, shepherding her through the service corridor. “I've got a 'possible gas leak' queued if security gets uppity."
“I already leaked enough for one night," Hazel said.
Maya fell in step, eyes scanning like a bouncer with better lipstick. “You good?"
“I'm vertical," Hazel said. “That's tonight's metric."
They hit the door. Cool air, loading bay glare, the blessed ordinary thrum of a refrigeration truck.
“Car's around back," Quinn said. “If the chair of the June Foundation asks where you went, I'll say you were allergic to endive foam."
“Accurate," Hazel said.
A shadow separated from the wall: coat, umbrella, unhurried center of gravity.
“Alexander," Maya breathed, then pretended she hadn't.
He didn't crowd. “Tree emoji received," he
