Amber.
I stood at the sink in the restroom, gripping the cold porcelain edge until my knuckles ached. My reflection looked like a stranger—mascara-streaked cheeks, wet hair plastered to my neck, uniform clinging in dark patches from the spilled wine.
I tore a tissue from the box on the counter and pressed it under my eyes, trying to stop the fresh tears before they fell. I couldn’t think straight.
Couldn’t breathe right. Every corner of the Vercetti world I touched felt like it was slowly strangling whatever small piece of me was still left.
The door swung open behind me.
I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Tomika.
Of course.
If she wasn’t here to laugh, what else would she want?
She stepped inside, heels clicking sharply against the tile, and let the door swing shut with
