411 Making Sense

(Jayden)

The morning light filters through the curtains of my hotel suite, glaring and unrelenting. My head throbs with the hangover from last night’s scotch-fueled spiral.

Everything is a blur, yet the anger and pain from the fight remains vivid, slicing into me.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to gather the pieces of myself, when there’s a knock at the door. It’s firm and authoritative. Only one person knocks like that.

“Come in,” I mutter, my voice rough and strained.

The door opens, and Viktor steps inside. His gaze is steely, assessing me with that infuriating calm of his. He’s dressed sharply, not a hair out of place, but there’s a tension in his eyes.

He looks at me as if he’s deciding whether I’m capable of doing my job.

“Mr. Brennan,” he says, voice cool and even. “You look… unwell.”

I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “I feel worse than unwell,” I admit, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table. It does little to soothe my parched throat. “What is it, Vikt