It was another Vought PR event. People swirling between one another, grinning with those fake smiles, maintaining those artificial conversations, shaking his hand as if they knew him.

They didn’t. That was the punchline of it all.

After a couple rounds of entertaining, he’d managed to slip away, to a corner near the bar, his nose catching the faint whiff of something familiar. He gravitated towards it, that same cockney accent ringing through his ears. But it wasn’t him.

“You.”