PREVIEW
... vator’s cheap music—some royalty-free jazz that felt like it wanted to die. Amelia fixed her hair in the mirror. Her glasses sat perfectly on her face, sharp and neat. Her pencil skirt hugged her hips so tight it was almost unfair, and her white shirt looked like it was giving everything it had to keep her chest contained.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Emilia, the mole, the missing phone—none of it was letting me sleep.
"So," Amelia spoke up, still staring at the mirror. "What’s y ...
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