The chill of the night air bit at Penelope’s cheeks, a stark reminder of the rage still simmering within her. “Zachary Blake Kennedy is such a jerk!” she muttered, the words escaping in a frosty puff. Her heels clicked against the desolate pavement of the East End, a place she swore she’d never set foot in. She pulled out her phone, Charlotte’s number a blurry beacon through her anger.

“Hey, can you come pick me up?” Her voice was tight with suppressed fury. A few shadowy figures loitered outside a sketchy bar, their laughter echoing eerily down the street.

“What happened? Weren’t you supposed to go on that reconciliation date with Zach?” Charlotte’s sleepy voice was laced with surprise.

“Don’t remind me of that life mistake, please. Are you coming or not?” Penelope snapped, her patience worn thin. The darkness swallowed the last vestiges of light from the bar, leaving her on a quiet, unfamiliar side street.

“I’m somewhere at the corner of Fifth and Maple.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. The reply came back, sharp and laced with fear. “Are you out of your mind? What are you doing all the way out in the East End? That place is dangerous.”

The word ‘dangerous’ hung in the air, suddenly feeling very real. Just as she was about to agree to Google’s advice, a sharp tug on her shoulder, a flash of movement, and her purse was gone. “Hey!” she shouted, spinning around. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Fear, then a surge of anger. The mugger stopped, and she instinctively lifted her phone, its glowing screen illuminating just half of his face: piercing light blue eyes and a chilling tattoo of sharp teeth stretching down his neck. He snatched the phone, mumbled something she barely heard, and vanished. Penelope stood stunned, the silence deafening, the reality of being robbed crashing down around her.