Chapter 78: How to Get Ripped Off
The morning light filtered through the window as if it were apologizing for showing up. The curtain, far too thin to block anything, let the sun spread in slanted lines across the room, lighting up the suspended dust dancing an indecent ballet.
The air was thick with the smells of old wood, last night’s onions, and sweaty skin all fighting for attention.
I was there, lying on my side, propped up on one crooked elbow, my cheek creasing a sheet that had probably been white once. I watched Lina’s room—it was smaller than she deserved, but more honest too.
No pointless decorations, just the essentials: bed, half-open wardrobe with clothes folded any old way, a chair stacked precariously with books, a pitcher of water, and an enamel basin with a towel that had clearly given up on ever being clean.
It was cozy in a spartan way. The kind of place you could exist in without asking permission.
I sighed. Slowly. The cold morning air burned in my chest when I inhaled deep. My throat still ached a little—from talking too much, or from saying too much, which wasn’t the same thing.
My mind wandered, of course. I’d been awake since before dawn, and the first thing that came to me was that damn article. Yep, the big scoop.
The juicy exposé. Today, the old newsman was going to print it, with or without my name on the masthead. The headline promised to sell plenty of paper, even if it ruined my life.
And I should have been more worried about that.
Should have.
But there I was, still in her bed, sheet pulled up to my waist because Lina had threatened to castrate me if I let it slip any lower. So... civilized.