Darius kicks the door shut with his boot, tossing his jacket onto a chair. He shuffles into the kitchen, whistling low, and sets a half-empty bottle of whisky on the counter. He pours a splash into his coffee, stirs with his finger, and takes a long sip.

“Mmm. Breakfast of champions.”

He drops into the armchair, creaking under his weight, and flips through a stack of papers without reading them. With a sigh, he leans back, boots on the table, and lets the room settle into silence.