Chapter 39 Inks And Ashes

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• The coffee maker gurgled its last breath, filling the safehouse kitchen with the bitter scent of survival. I stared at the cracked linoleum floor, counting the stains like constellations. *Three coffee spills. Two blood droplets. One unidentified.* Normalcy was a performance now, and I was a terrible actor.
• Adam snored on the couch, his boots propped on the armrest, a half-eaten granola bar crumbling on his chest. Dawn bled through the curtains, painting the room in hues of bruised purple. I poured two mugs, splashing bourbon into mine. Breakfast of champions.