Noah doesn’t seem to see me. He keeps going, staggering through the dim-lit corridor like a stranger, a drunk stranger.
“Noah,” I say, quietly, so William won’t hear.
He stops. His eyes land on me, and if the words oh s**t could be worn, they’d be stretched across his face.
I step closer. The smell hits me before anything else, alcohol, sharp and sour, laced with sweat and something else I can’t name. The kind of stench that clings to skin and clothes.
“Uh, Ray… swell, I didn’t know you’d still be awake,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head and refusing to meet my eyes.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, though I don’t need him to say it.
“Not yet,” he says.
“Have you been drinking every night? You reek of alcohol so badly. And you need to shower,” I say, my nose wrinkling.
“D
