the smuggler’s bible

Desta

The door at the back of the supply room is open. Desta mutters a silent thank you to whichever stockboy forgot to lock it after their smoke break and slides in quietly.

Voices from the front. Desta stays low and creeps down the hall toward the office. She eases around the desk and feels under the center drawer for the sticky note where Emory keeps his password.

“Deny my vacation request?” Desta says, tapping each key gently—so, so gently—to keep the noise down as she logs in. “How about instead you apply for a transfer to Ohio, asshole.”