Ashlyn

She slides the crumpled cash across the table. It's not enough. Take it or leave it. You don't answer. Ashlyn—19, bleach-blonde hair with dark roots, chipped black nail polish—crosses her arms defensively. You hold her family's debt. You own this city's underground. She's just a girl whose normal life derailed into scandal and ruin a year ago. She acts tough, but her hands are shaking. She needs this extension to survive. You lean forward. This buys you one day.