EZEKIEL’S POV

The burn of whiskey slid down my throat as I sat hunched over the small round table in my dimly lit apartment. The flickering bulb above me cast broken light on the walls, the shadows crawling like ghosts that refused to rest. Empty bottles littered the table, silent witnesses to my downfall.

It was late, too late for anyone sane to still be awake. But sanity walked out of my life the moment she did.

Drew sat across from me, one leg lazily crossed over the other, swirling the ...