The Long Game

**Sloane**

The grim morning light bleeds through the smudged windowpane of our safe house, casting long, gray shadows across the peeling linoleum floor. Dust motes dance in the pale beams, illuminating the squalor we call home.

"Morning, girlfriend!" Roxanne chirps. Her forced brightness grates against the heavy, oppressive silence of the room. She slides a steaming, chipped ceramic mug of black