The night finally surrendered to its end at least for the three of them.
It was far too late. Fedora fished his phone from his pocket and clicked it on, letting out a deep, weary grunt as the digital glow cut through the dimness of the restaurant.
The time floated there, stark and unforgiving.
Twelve o'clock sharp.
Two hours past Fedora's so-called curfew. He sucked his teeth, a brief hiss of frustration, before sliding the device back into his denim.
"What's the worst that can happen?" he muttered to himself, the words a thin shield against the anxiety of going home. "They'll just yell and bark."
Miguel, Fedora, and Tyra rose to their feet in a heavy, synchronized motion. There was a frantic energy to the way they checked their pockets and smoothed their clothes, making sure nothing was left behind in the wreckage of the evening.
