The drive home was quiet, neither of us spoke.
We simply sat there in that charged silence that seems to stretch out, making your skin feel tight, like you’ve outgrown your own body. The car finally pulled up to a luxurious villa, and the front doors slid open to reveal a world that felt entirely removed from the noise and exhaust fumes of the city below. The lighting was low and intimate, casting long, honey-colored shadows across the polished hardwood floor. Soft instrumental music drifted through the air, low enough that it seemed more like a heartbeat than a tune.
“Sit, Rahab,” Nisi said, pointing to a stool.
He moved toward the bar and, without asking, poured a glass of dark amber liquid. When he handed it to me, I caught the label: my favorite liquor, the peaty, expensive kind I
