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... r than anything he'd ever slept on, but his stomach still twisted with nerves. He sat on the edge of the mattress, boots dangling just above the floor, and let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Alright, Fin," he muttered to himself. "Day one of not screwing this up."

His mind drifted back to Meg. The way she'd shoved that crumpled stack of cash into his hands back in the slums. "You've got a shot," she'd said, her voice sharp but warm. "Don't waste it."

He rubbed his face with bot ...

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