James sat slouched in the dim corner booth of Heaven’s Night, the low hum of an old jukebox barely covering the silence that seemed to hang over him like a shroud. His fingers traced absent patterns on the rim of the untouched glass in front of him, the faint burn of neon light washing his tired face in shades of red and green.

For once, the chaos outside these walls felt far away—kept at bay by smoke, stale liquor, and the illusion of safety this place provided. He wasn’t sure if he deserved the peace, but for the moment, he let himself breathe.

His thoughts wandered, circling endlessly between guilt and longing, though he pushed them down with each slow inhale. Tonight, in this forgotten little bar, James just wanted to pretend he was someone else—someone who wasn’t haunted.