Chapter 1: The Late Check-In

It was just past 1 a.m., and the only light in the lobby was the dull glow of the old neon "Vacancy" sign humming outside. The sign buzzed and flickered, painting the cracked tile floor in sickly pink. I was slouched at the front desk, fighting off the urge to nod off, when the sharp rap of knuckles on the counter jolted me awake. My hand twitched, knocking over a cold cup of gas station coffee—another long night at the Sunset Pines Motor Inn, I thought.

Blinking blearily, I looked up to see two people standing in the worn-out lobby—a man and a woman. The man was tall and wiry, dressed like he didn't want to be recognized: a baseball cap pulled low, a surgical mask obscuring half his face, and a battered green duffel hanging off one shoulder. The woman clung to him, her head buried against his chest, hair long enough to curtain her face from view.

The smell hit me first—a punch of stale whiskey and vodka that could've peeled paint. The woman looked out of it, swaying on her feet, more deadweight than date. I sized them up fast, as any good motel owner does. Was she with him by choice, or was this another bad-luck story waiting to unfold? I’d learned to spot trouble, but sometimes, trouble wore a pretty face. They'd clearly been out at some dive bar, maybe picked up on the curb after last call. I knew the type. In my line of work, you learn not to ask questions you don't want the answers to.

The guy barked, "A room," his voice muffled by the mask. He held her up like she was nothing but a bag of groceries, never glancing her way, and his hands moved with the twitchy focus of someone who’d done this before.

I plastered on my well-practiced, nothing-surprises-me smile. But my jaw clenched tight enough to hurt. I didn’t like the look of this one. I slid a fresh keycard across the scratched counter. "ID—yours is fine," I said, leaning in to keep my tone friendly but just formal enough to sound legit.

He fished out a few crisp hundreds and slid them over. "Forgot my ID." His eyes didn't blink, daring me to make a fuss.

I hesitated, put on a frown for show. "Man, no ID? The city’s really cracking down lately—compliance checks, you know?"

The guy's gaze locked onto mine, and I finally noticed the jagged tattoo wrapping his forearm. A real piece of work. Motels on the outskirts of town attract all kinds, but there are some you just don't push.

So, I folded quick. "Then hers will do."

He nudged the woman, who swayed but didn't open her eyes. "She didn’t bring hers, either."

With two hard taps on the desk, he said, "Do me a favor."

His voice was polite but frosty. Sent a chill down my back. I glanced over, and for just a second, the girl's hair shifted, revealing a face so pretty it looked out of place in my dingy lobby.

I bit down my hesitation. "Alright, but I can’t refund the deposit."

He took the keycard without a word, scooped the woman up, and trudged toward the stairs. Only after they were halfway up did I sweep the cash into the till, a sly grin sneaking onto my face as I watched them disappear. Another easy payday, I thought—just like clockwork in these parts.