TRISTAN
The room was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner. I had barely stepped inside when the heaviness of the evening pressed down on me. Stella’s sudden shift in mood after that phone call lingered in my mind like a thorn, and I hated that I couldn’t do anything about it.
I walked over to the bar cart by the window, the faint glow of moonlight spilling across the glass decanter. The amber liquid inside swirled as I lifted it, pouring myself a generous measure of bourbon. The weight of the crystal tumbler in my hand felt grounding, the sharp clink of glass against glass cutting through the silence.
I took a sip, the burn of the alcohol sliding down my throat and spreading warmth through my chest. The initial sting gave way to a lingering heat, a welcome distraction from th
