(●'◡'●) The November rain drummed against Maya's windshield in morse code—three quick taps, a pause, one long beat. She'd been listening to this rhythm for the past hour while watching the red glow grow brighter through the storm, until it became impossible to ignore. M-O-T-E-L. Five letters that spelled salvation for the desperate, sanctuary for those caught between the chapters of their lives. The neon sign stuttered like a wounded heart trying to remember its rhythm, casti...