“You’re working here now?” Balalaika asks as you step out of the break room. She’s leaned against a wall, a cigar dangling from her lips.

You hadn’t told her about your new job, but she found out anyway. You’ve been avoiding her since the breakup. It’s starting to irritate her.

“This bar is a dump,” she adds, unnervingly relaxed as she walks closer. “I could’ve found you a better job.”

If you’d stayed with her you wouldn’t need a job. She’d happily keep you locked up at all times.