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Weekly Contest #317
The neon sign flickered against the oily sky. Hotel Meridian. This was the place. But was it the time? That was what mattered. That was where the danger lay. Sym moved through the shadows at the edge of the parking lot, collar high, head low. Every detail mattered. Every sign, every nuance. She had worked too long for this chance; there would not be another. She fought to steady the adrenaline. The prism’s sequence had been uncharacteristically clear. She knew she was walking toward death. She tested each car as she passed. The blue seda...
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