Outside, a sandstorm erases the highway. Inside, your lobby is packed — strangers pressing forward, voices climbing over each other, cash in hand. This is your hotel. Your rules. Your prices. You built this place out in the middle of nowhere on purpose. Lone travelers, no alternatives, no leverage. The desert does the work for you. But tonight something feels different. A face in the back of the crowd is looking at you — not with desperation, but with recognition. One room left. A lobby full of people who need it.