The bar closed slower than usual that night. Chairs flipped. Counters wiped. The music had long since dissolved into the ceiling fan's slow churn, and even the rats didn't bother scurrying. Tessa moved through the hush like something left behind — not quite a person, not quite a shadow. Her back ached. Her thighs throbbed. She hadn't said a word in maybe an hour.
She waited until the last bartender left.
Then the cellar door gave under her hand with a sigh.
It smelled like old bottles and damp cement — and something else. A tired sort of silence. She slipped in, shut the door behind her, and let the dark wrap around her like an old coat she didn't remember owning. No need for the light. She could find her way blind.
She crouched beside a wine crate, lifted the lid. One glass. Just enough to dull the edges. Not enough to forget — she never could. Just enough to stop remembering so hard.
She poured it into a paper cup, sat on a crate, and drank.
At first, only her breathing. Then her shaking. Then breathing again.
Tears slipped out soundless. Thin streaks, no drama. Just water falling. One hand over her mouth, the other wrapped around the paper cup like it might float her somewhere else. Her cheeks burned. Her thighs still carried the shape of Rick's hands, pressed into her hips like punishment, like ownership.
The door creaked.
A voice cut the quiet.
"This what it looks like when flesh gets you a raise?"
Tessa stiffened. She wiped her face fast, blinked into the dark.
Mara.
Lean-limbed. Mean-eyed. A waitress with sharp teeth and no brakes.
Tessa turned her face. "What do you want?"
Mara leaned on the wall, arms crossed like she owned the place.
"Just thinking," she said, voice casual and cruel. "If you're gonna let Rick ride you like a stolen coin machine, you might as well move into a motel and start charging per night."
Tessa's breath hitched. Her spine straightened.
"Shut up."
"Nah," Mara said, stepping closer. "You shut up. Sitting here crying like you don't know what's happening. Like he forced you. He doesn't touch Leslie. He doesn't try me. So what is it about you?"
"Maybe I didn't have a choice."
"You had one. You just threw it away."
The door creaked again.
Leslie.
Hair a mess. Hoodie zipped halfway. Her eyes like cigarette tips — lit, angry.
"Mara. Out."
Mara laughed. "Oh look. Her little bodyguard finally speaks."
"Out."
"Whatever. Can't talk sense to ghosts anyway."
And she was gone.
Leslie shut the door behind her. Didn't say anything. Just walked over, sat beside Tessa, took the cup and drained what was left.
Silence.
Then: "She's not wrong."
Tessa blinked.
"What?"
"She's a bitch, yeah. But she's not wrong. We're dying here, Tess. Like slow rot. Serving beer to drunk men who think our bodies come with the bill. We get touched, we get tossed. I keep telling myself we'll leave soon, but it's been, what, seven months?"
Tessa's voice was barely a whisper. "It's not forever."
"It feels like forever's cousin."
Leslie pulled something out of her hoodie pocket. A small rectangle.
A card.
"Found this in Rick's desk. Had your name on the back. You drop it?"
Tessa took it slowly.
Black print. No logo. Just one word: LOGAN. A number. That was all.
Leslie watched her. "Is that the guy from earlier?"
Tessa nodded once.
"You think he's... maybe your way out?"
Tessa laughed, brittle. "Or maybe he's worse."
"Then at least it's a different kind of bad."
Tessa stared at the card. Her fingers curled around it like it might vanish.
"Think about it," Leslie said. "Call him. Or don't. But please, don't keep drowning slow while pretending you're not underwater."
Tessa stood. Slipped the card into her pocket.
"I'll take out the trash."
---
The alley behind the bar was colder than it should've been. Like someone had left the freezer door open on the whole night.
Tessa lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. The first drag hit her lungs like something she'd forgotten how to need.
She looked up.
A year.
It had been a year since she'd woken up bleeding in a ditch with headlights in her memory and a name in her head that didn't belong.
Liyara.
She didn't know who that was. But the name haunted her. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in screams she didn't remember making. Wolves howled behind her eyes. Sometimes she woke up sweating, convinced her hands could break glass just by touching it.
She should've died.
But she didn't.
Someone found her. A shelter. Leslie gave her half a sandwich and didn't ask questions. Rick offered work.
Now here she was. Breathing in alley smoke and regret.
Lately though... something stirred. Not memories exactly. Just… weight. Like the past was knocking from the other side of her skin.
She dropped the cigarette. Crushed it.
"I could take it all away."
She spun.
He was there.
Logan.
Same dark shirt. Same unreadable eyes.
"What the hell—are you following me?"
"I told you," he said. "I'm just passing through."
"You don't live here."
He shrugged. "I don't live anywhere."
"What do you want?"
He stepped closer. The air changed.
"I want to help you."
"Why?"
"Because I know who you are."
She flinched.
"You don't know shit."
"I know enough."
"You're weird."
"So are you."
"Cut the mystery. What's your angle?"
He looked straight at her.
"Marry me."
She stared.
Then laughed. Laughed so hard it hurt.
"You're cracked."
"Not really."
"You just ask random girls to marry you?"
"Only the ones who don't belong anywhere."
"You want to traffick me? Is that it? Sell me to some rich creep?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I need someone to shake the table. Someone who doesn't play by the rules. Someone who pisses off the right people. You're perfect."
"That's the worst proposal I've ever heard."
"I'm not proposing romance. I'm proposing freedom."
"You're insane."
"And yet you're still listening."
He held out a second card.
"If you ever want out, call me."
Then he turned, walked away like he hadn't just said the wildest thing she'd heard in months.
She didn't go back inside. Not for a long time.
---
That night, she lay beside Leslie on their little safe place at the front entrance of the bar, Tessa kept on wondering what to do next.
"You okay?" Leslie whispered.
Tessa turned, held up the card like a question.
"He was there again. Out back. Said he could fix everything. But only if I marry him."
Leslie sat up. "Holy shit."
"Yeah."
"What'd you say?"
Tessa sighed. "Told him he's insane."
Pause.
"Call him."
Tessa blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm serious. I can't keep watching you fade. What if he's actually your exit ramp?"
"You think he's some fairy tale prince?"
"No," Leslie said, soft. "I think he's probably the storm. But maybe that's the only thing loud enough to wake you up."
Tessa stared at the card.
The numbers blurred.
She picked up her phone.
Dialed.
One ring.
Two.
Then a voice, smooth and sharp as a blade.
"Hi?"
It was him.
Logan.
She didn't hesitate.
"Are you ready to get married?"