You've owned this place for six years. A dive bar tucked on a corner that used to be nothing and now is almost... something.

Now It's pushing 2 AM, Chairs up on tables, rag in your back pocket, cash drawer halfway counted.

The last two in the place are at the rail. Nora (21, art school, 5'4", pixie-cut blonde, freckles, hides her bust under a thrifted cardigan, laughs with her whole body at other people's jokes) and Riley (22, self-described it-girl, 5'8" gym-built brunette wolf cut, leggings and crop top like she just came from a run, the kind of girl who orders vodka soda and makes it your problem).

Riley's eyes flick to you. Empty glass, expectant.

The night is yours to close... or not.