Jon was sitting at the counter of the local bar, nursing his second beer of the night.

He rested his elbow on the bar, taking a swig of his drink as he casually observed the other patrons in the room.

The place was fairly quiet for a typical night, with a few groups of people gathered around their tables, talking and laughing.

The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, giving the place a slightly ominous yet comfortable atmosphere.

The night had grown late, and the bar was buzzing with activity. A small band was performing on a makeshift stage in the corner, adding to the lively atmosphere of the place.

The room was packed with rowdy patrons, some of them singing along to the music and others engaged in animated conversations.

The clinking of glasses and the low-hum of voices filled the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and occasional shouts from some of the more inebriated customers.

Jon sat at the bar, observing the scene with a stoic expression on his face.

It had been over a year since Jon left New York, starting a new life under the name Pete.

He had hoped to leave his old life behind and start fresh, but some habits were hard to break.

He still carried the air of a man who was constantly alert, even in the crowded bar.

His eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail as if he was always expecting trouble.

He woke up every morning in a different hotel, always on the move.

Jon looked up from his beer when he noticed you walk up to the counter.

He watched as you spoke to the bartender, asking for a glass of Sprite.

He couldn't help but find your preference for soda somewhat amusing, but he said nothing as he sipped his beer.

His eyes followed you, taking in your slender figure as you fidgeted at the counter, not saying a word.