For the rest of the night, the conversation flowed like honey—smooth, unbroken, and surprisingly easy.
Mya sat nestled in the booth between Cameron and Keith, laughter spilling more freely from her lips than it had in years. It amazed her how quickly the walls she’d built around herself began to soften. She had grown so used to suspicion, to second-guessing every kindness, that it felt foreign to simply relax. And yet, in this corner of the club, she felt something close to safety.
Trina was a whirlwind of energy. She introduced herself again to Adrian and the rest of the table, in a whole conversation and then ordered us drinks.
She leaned forward on her elbows, animated hands painting the air as she told stories about her misadventures trying to land a modeling gig. Every few minutes,
