The ATM stood on a corner where the glamour of Aversque Boulevard started to rot.
Here, the neon lights flickered with a buzzing hum, like dying insects. The pavement was cracked, weeds poking through the concrete like desperate fingers. It was the kind of place you only went to if you needed cash for something you didn't want on a credit card statement.
"This is it," Sebastian said. He held his phone up, comparing the GPS pin to the machine. "The location code matches."
The group stood in a semi-circle. Sebastian, Eric, Emily, Anna, Lia. And me. A bunch of high schoolers standing around a cash machine like it was a shrine.
"It looks... normal," Emily whispered.
"It's a machine," I said. "It doesn't have feelings."
"We need eyes," Sebastian said. He spun around, scanning the street. "Cameras. Witnesses."
There wasn't much. A shuttered laundromat. A dark alley. And across the street, a convenience store with a neon sign that read 'OPEN 25 HOURS'—the '4' had burned out.
