Myra
Tony didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The air around him seemed to ionize, thick with a protective, lethal stillness. He reached down and snatched the card off the floor, his eyes scanning the rhyme once before his fist crushed the paper into a tight, jagged ball.
"Leo," Tony’s voice was a low, vibrating rasp. "Lock the door. Flip the sign. Now."
"Tony, wait—" I started, but my voice failed me. I felt small. I felt exposed, as if the flour-dusted apron I was wearing was made of glass. Just an hour ago, I was a director, a professional, a woman saving a family’s legacy. Now, I was just a girl in a compromising video. The efficiency professional had been fired, replaced by the eighteen-year-old who knew exactly what it felt like to be discarded.
"Did you see who dropped these o
