The bar was loud, but Eliana barely registered it. The thrum of bass, the clinking of glasses, the blur of conversations—it all felt miles away.
She sat tucked into the corner booth, fingers curled around her third glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the neon light like some cruel trick of fate.
She hadn't called anyone.
She couldn't. Not Renee, not Valeria, not Luca, not even Elias.
Her phone was turned off and stuffed at the bottom of her purse like it was some kind of curse. She didn't want the screen lighting up with concern. She didn't want the noise of advice or comfort or judgment. She just wanted to disappear for a few hours and let the silence inside her speak for once.
She brought the glass to her lips and drank. It burned going down, and she welcomed it. She deserved to feel something. Anything other than what was inside her chest right now—hollow, cracked, and unbearably quiet.
The seat across from her slid, and she blinked.
