ELLA

I rattle the door’s handle once. Locked. “Devlin?” I call out, placing my ear against the door and hearing his retreating footsteps. “Open the door!”

No answer. I angrily kick the door and hurt my foot while at it. “Son of a bitch!” I wince.

Devlin locked me up in this very fancy prison above what is very clearly not a bar.

The Bar. Capital T, capital B.

How quaint.

How utterly unhinged. What is this place?

I pace the suite, relentlessly, fuming, confused, and ...