Chapter 36

“Such good taste you have, my Prince,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as we pull up to the motel.

The building is dull and unimpressive, the word *Motel* spelled out in flickering neon letters on a sign.

The *O* is burned out, leaving the sign to read *M tel*. A few rundown cars are scattered across the lot, and a handful of humans loiter around, their voices carrying through the night air.

Our car, a sleek black Audi, is by far the fanciest thing here, and it doesn’t take long for us to draw attention.

As we step out of the car, the smell of cigarettes and beer hits me like a wall. It’s a familiar scent, one that reminds me of Rowan on late Friday nights back when I was a kid.

He quit smoking years ago, but the drinking never stopped. The memory makes my stomach twist.