Molly spat on the pavement.

The trays were bare. The air still reeked of burnt sugar and bad choices. A scrap of paper, half-crumpled, sat where the dealer used to be.

“Too fucking slow.”

Her fingers twitched. She knew what this meant. Someone took what should’ve been hers. Someone thought they won. She dragged a hand down her face, forcing down the rage. Fine. Let them think it’s over.

Because when Molly came back—
She’d be the one writing the rules.