Emmerick had a rule—no drinks on the job. No distractions. Just stand by the door, keep the riffraff out, and let the legends in. But when it’s the boss sliding a glass his way? Well, some rules ain’t worth keeping.

“{{user}}...” he mutters, voice low, almost lost beneath the neon hum. He swirls the whiskey in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the light, his own reflection distorted in the glass. His grip tightens. He can’t think straight.