Mitch’s expression hardened instantly. He crossed his massive, tattooed arms over his chest, leaning his bulk against the metal prep table. "Garrison Heights. The fancy place up on the ridge. I told your mother over the summer that place was going to screw up our system here, Lyra. You're my best line-runner. If you aren't here for the midday industrial rush, I’ve got three tables of angry dock workers waiting twenty minutes for their clubs."
"I know, Mitch, and I'm sorry," I said, keeping my gaze steady, refusing to blink or look intimidated by his size. I had survived Gabriel Jakes' amber stare this morning; I could survive Mitch's irritation. "But I need this job. More than before. I can work every single weekday from four PM until closing. I’ll take the Friday night double shift, and
