Late evening. Clayton sat in the dark and cold living room, lost in the abyss of his thoughts. Silence reigned around him, broken only by the soft clink of ice in a glass. He sipped his whiskey slowly, feeling the strong drink burn his throat, but it brought neither warmth nor comfort. His gaze was fixed on nothing, as if he was looking for answers to questions that made no sense.

Every sip reminded him of how quickly time had passed, of the losses he couldn't forget, and of how difficult it was to find his place in this world. He felt dead inside, like a shadow of himself wandering the empty corridors of memories. The thought that life no longer made sense hung over him like a heavy cloud.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of the doorbell interrupted his gloomy thoughts. The tired man did not even flinch at such an unexpected sound, but slowly turned to look at the front door. Putting the glass on the coffee table next to him, the bear got up and wandered to the door.