DelaneyI walk in, not saying a word to the guys standing outside. The bar’s name is Rogue, to my astonishment. I step through the heavy doors and immediately feel out of place. It’s clear from what I’m wearing and my overall style that I don’t belong here, and I stick out like a sore thumb. The bar is dimly lit, with neon signs flickering on the walls in shades of red, blue, and green. All of them say Rogue. They cast strange shadows across the room, making everything look a little distorted, a little off. Strange. The scent of leather, sweat, and cheap beer fills the air, along with the constant low hum of conversation, broken by the occasional rough laugh or clink of glasses. They’re everywhere, these men. I don’t spot a woman anywhere. A few pairs of eyes glance my way as I enter, sizing me up. I try to avoid their gazes, but I can feel them lingering. I keep my head down, pretending to focus on the floor, but I can’t shake the tight knot forming in my stomach. The place is
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