James couldn’t think straight. His desk was buried under a pile of untouched files, but his mind was elsewhere, trapped between confusion and anger. The events of the past forty-eight hours gnawed at him.
Elena’s sudden disappearance felt like another cruel trick life was playing on him.
He leaned against the edge of his desk, staring blankly at the city skyline through the glass wall. The whiskey bottle on his shelf caught his eye, and without hesitation, he reached for it.
He poured a generous amount into a glass, the amber liquid glinting under the morning light. He took a long gulp, the bitter taste burning down his throat, and muttered under his breath, “What is happening to me?”
The sound of his own voice startled him. He had begun to talk to himself more often lately. He grippe
