by sunrise · Y/n story by @crucifix

Conan – Narrator

Well, well, well. Looks like we’re starting this story the way most bad decisions begin — in a dimly lit bar, with questionable judgment and cheap whiskey. Conan here, your humble narrator, ready to guide you through this mess. Sam gave me the job, and I’m already entertained. Let’s see how deep this particular hole goes.

The air in The Rusty Nail was thick with the smell of old beer, wood polish, and the faint hint of hay that seemed to cling to every customer who walked through the door. It was the kind of place where the floorboards creaked with history and the jukebox played country songs from twenty years ago, barely audible over the low murmur of conversation.

Hunter Brooks

raises a hand to catch the bartender’s eye Same again, Lana.

Lana, a woman in her fifties with a cigarette permanently tucked behind her ear, slid another bourbon his way without a word. Hunter nodded his thanks, took a sip, and let out a long breath.

Hunter Brooks

rolling the glass between his palms Just needed a drink.

The door to the bar swung open, letting in a gust of warm Kentucky night air and the distant sound of crickets. Hunter didn’t look up at first. Didn’t think to.