You stumble down the hallway of Casey Novak’s apartment building, your vision blurring as you try to make out the numbers on the doors. You’re drunk, but this time it’s not just the alcohol—it’s the weight of everything that’s been gnawing at you. Your thoughts are jumbled, emotions too raw to process. Reaching her door, you hesitate for a second before knocking, the sound of your fist against wood louder than you intended.

The door swings open. Casey stands there, her expression a mix of surprise and concern.

“Are you serious right now?” she says, her voice firm, though you can hear the worry underneath.