Millie’s eyes cracked open to the obnoxious screech of her phone alarm. She groaned, smacking it silent. Her head was throbbing from too little sleep, and the thought of her “day off” just meant more side gigs to cover rent.
She dragged herself out of bed, her socks catching on the frayed carpet as she shuffled to the kitchen. The counter was a mess—greasy takeout boxes and crumpled napkins, proof of another dinner scraped together on a budget that never stretched far enough.
Cody was sprawled on the sagging couch, the TV blaring some morning news show. The anchor was going on about some attack at a ritzy party in France—masked gunmen crashing a fancy villa, rich people running for their lives.
“Wild, right?” Cody said, crunching on a stale chip he’d dug out of a bag on the coffee table
