Osita sat alone in the executive lounge, the kind of place where silence was expensive and loneliness hid behind polished wood and dim lights.
The bar glowed softly, amber reflections bouncing off crystal glasses and dark bottles lined like soldiers behind the counter. He had been there longer than he planned. Longer than he admitted to himself.
Each minute stretched into the next, blurring together until time felt irrelevant, until the only measure that mattered was the level of whiskey in the bottle before him.
He tilted the bottle and poured the last drop of whiskey into his glass. The liquid settled with a lazy swirl, heavy and dark, like everything weighing on his chest. He lifted the glass and drank without savouring it, the burn sliding down his throat, sharp but familiar.
It
