Familiar fates

Aurora hadn’t planned to leave the club that night. Her body ached from rehearsal, and the luxury a a free rest of the night was still foreign enough to feel suspicious. But something in her had stirred when she left—a restless energy, an urge to move, to breathe something beyond velvet curtains and rose-colored stage lights.

So she dressed simply in high-waisted jeans, a black simple top, , and some black heels she found backstage that fit her. Her curls were soft, unstyled, and tied loosely at the nape of her neck.

Las Vegas by night was a different creature. Overly packed of its night-laced glamour, it buzzed with tourist chatter and the soft clink of slot machines. The air was dry, cool, and touched with the scent of city city—concrete, drugs, and distant sex.

She wandered aimlessly through the Strip for nearly an hour, ducking into bars for a drink was hers was finished. No one recognized her. No one looked twice. It was a kind of freedom she hadn’t realized she needed.

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