We didn't speak on the drive back to the hotel. There was nothing left to say with words. The truth was a living entity in the car with us, a silent, dangerous passenger. He led me not to my room, but to the hotel’s rooftop bar, a stark, windswept place under a sky full of bruised clouds.
He ordered two whiskies, neat. They arrived in heavy crystal tumblers, the amber liquid catching the last of the dying light. I took a long, burning swallow, the fire in my throat a welcome distraction from the inferno in my head.
He watched me, his face an unreadable mask of shadow and light. Patient. Waiting.
The alcohol hit my system, not dulling my senses, but sharpening them to a razor's edge. It stripped away the last layers of shock and fear, leaving behind a pure, crystalline core of purpose. I
