Fresh air filled Zephyr’s lungs, sterilizing the notes of sweat and smoke. She slipped out the back door of the club into an empty back alley. Dim light filtered in from the runic sconces at the far end. Wanting a moment to drink in the silence, she ventured away from the street. It was muffled chaos —the steady reverberation of a bass, the sycophantic screams of debauchery— rather than total qui...