Thelma woke to the sound of Cassie's voice, soft but unsteady, drifting through the quiet club.
The music had long since died, the pulsing lights shut down, leaving the space unusually still. Chairs were scattered where laughter had been hours ago, and the air carried the faint scent of alcohol and perfume.
What she did not expect, what made her freeze where she lay, was the sight of Cassie curled in Franklin Roth's arms.
Cassie looked small there, unguarded in a way Thelma had rarely seen.
Franklin held her with instinctive care, one arm firm around her waist, the other bracing her weight as though she weighed nothing at all.
Thelma's first reflex was absurdly human: to take a picture, to capture the moment and lock it away forever. But she stopped herself. Some moments w
