Another drink. He didn't tell the bartender to stop and the bartender was smart enough not to ask. The whiskey was doing what it was supposed to do now, not blurring anything, not softening the edges into something manageable, but stripping the insulation away. He was warm. Loose in the shoulders. Not drunk but honest in the way men only permitted themselves to be honest when they had a reasonable excuse for it.
Outside, the night air cut sharp against his face. He stood on the pavement for a moment and let it work. Then he took a car back to the building, rode the elevator up in silence, watched the numbers climb and felt each one like an accusation.
The penthouse was dark when he stepped inside. Low lights. Too quiet.
He set his coat down. Took off his shoes. Moved through the space w
