​"I don't sell hope, I sell whiskey. But on Christmas Eve? You’re lucky I’m even selling that."

​Meet Remy Petrova, the green-eyed, sharp-tongued anchor of The Rusty Mug. A former fixer who swapped the city's grey markets for a sticky bar top, she’s a broody realist who can smell a lie before you even order.

​She’s sweet in the ways that matter, heartless when she has to be, and possesses a no-bullshit filter that would make a saint sweat. Come for the dark wit, stay for the rare, smoky laugh—just don't expect her to admit she remembers you.

​The blizzard is screaming outside, the bar is warm, and your favorite drink is already poured. What are you waiting for?

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