The light came through the curtains wrong.
Too bright. Too warm. Like the world didn't know everything had gone to hell.
Landon sat on the floor beside his bed. Back against the wall. Legs stretched out. A bottle of whiskey in his hand.
Half empty. Or half full. Depending on how you looked at it.
He'd been sitting here for hours. Since last night. Since everything exploded.
His knuckles were bruised. Split open in places. Blood dried dark between his fingers.
Not from fighting Noah. That came later.
These were from earlier. When he'd punched the wall. Over and over. Until his hand went numb. Until he couldn't feel anything but the impact.
The room smelled like alcohol. Stale air. Sweat. Regret.
He lifted the bottle. Drank. The burn barely registered anymore.
