I crumple the two modest sheets of paper. I toss them into a steel bin. Then, I grab a match, light it, and throw it in. The man’s face disappears in less than five seconds as he is eaten by fire.

I huff. The sound of my breaths are soon overridden by the bass thumping rhythms into the ground. La Brume has reached its peak hour. If I don’t act now, I’ll risk losing him. And I can’t have that.

I exit the booth. The scent of cigarettes makes my throat itch, and my brain crave another. I’d usually hold back, but—I smirk—this is the perfect occasion.

The man, too, has left his booth. Solenn’s letter told me his name was Rob. There is no sight of the other guy who was once with him, only, there is blood on the Rob’s knuckles, so it isn’t difficult to guess what might’ve happened.

Now that I’m getting a better look at him, I want to back out. This guy is ripped. If he caught me in the act of stealing his info, I’m sure he could smash my skull with just a flick of his finger.

His tattoos don’t do anything to make him appear less menacing either. And the vermilion lights above throw dark shadows across his skin that only serve to accentuate his rough features. “You looking at me, boy?”

Shit.

He noticed I was staring.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I gulp. Something tells me my usual method of threatening people into them giving me information won’t work this time. “Hey, brat!” Rob snaps, as he cocks his head, then snarls. “I’m talking to you over there! With the black hair.”

For a moment, I forget I’m wearing a wig, and it takes a few seconds after his statement for me to realize he’s referring to my pseudo-hair.

I force my legs to move. I waver over to where he stands, leaning against the wall, with his unshaven arms crossed over his chest. I have to do something, I think. I’m too suspicious right now. If I don’t act fast and figure out a plan in next three seconds, it’s likely my blood will be smeared across his fingers, too.

“You’re hot,” I blurt, in an overexaggerated, slurred manner. And, boy, do I hope this guy is into dudes, or else I am screwed.

He grins. I let out a breath of relief. However, this situation becomes a whole other problem all entirely once his hand slithers across my waist. “Oh yeah?” Rob smells like leather and iron, and I’m really hoping Solenn won’t find a dead guy in the booth he used. “Here to have some fun?”

“Y-yeah.” I avert his gaze. My walk is sluggish as I lead him onto the dancefloor. Thankfully, he follows. Even if a bouncer was nearby, it’s always better to be in a crowd—especially for talking. He’ll let his guard down. He won’t think much of it.

I’m not used to dancing like this, especially not with strangers. Though, it’s not that hard. He seems satisfied if I just grind up against his leg. What an idiot.

Rob leans in. He reaches out to tuck the wig’s hair behind my ear, but I quickly grab his hand and twine our fingers together instead. “Why don’t you tell me about your day?” I whisper, low, and close to his ear. “How badly do you need to relax, Sir?”

“Sir?” He chuckles. “I like that. You’re good.”

I smile in return without breaking eye contact. This time, my expression is quite honest, because he’s right, I am good. And he’s going to give me what I want.

My index finger traces a path from his mouth down to his chin. I bite my lower lip. “So?” I say, in a tone that is more teasing than irritated. “Do you need a distraction, or should I just go?”

His palm comes down to cup my ass. He squeezes. Once. I do my best to hold back a cringe. “You’re a curious little one, aren’t you?” And okay, maybe I underestimated him, because I just assumed he would let his emotions get the best of him, like he did back in that booth. He shouldn’t be questioning right now. He should be giving in.

I rub up against him again. A new song plays. It is faster, much more violent than the last. “I’m very open-minded,” I say. And, just when I’m on the verge of leaning in to kiss him—because damn it all, it’s worth it if I can save Fletcher afterwards—some asshole decides to literally hump my waist.

My lip twitches. I turn around with the intent of teaching a lesson to whoever it is that mistook raunchy dancing for literally emulating sex on a dancefloor, but the person I find myself face-to-face with makes me freeze. “Hello, Rogue Zero.” The Android from before shows me his usual hypocritical grin, and of course it’s him. It makes sense that this asshole wouldn’t know how to dance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again—”

I slap a hand to his lips. “Do not speak that name in here,” I hiss.

From behind me, Rob clicks his tongue. His presses his erection to the curve of my ass, and asks, “What name?” He’s heard me. He probably heard The Android, too. Crap.

The people that surround us slow, until they are dancing no more. The floor is silent, even if the music in the speakers above head is still raging, echoing sounds of shotguns across the room. And I know I’m in for it now, because they’re all staring at us, without uttering a single word.