Bodies press in from all sides, the air thick with the scent of firewhisky, expensive cologne, and the faint, ever-present damp of the dungeon walls.

My head feels like it’s floating several feet above my shoulders, pleasantly detached. The world tilts on a friendly, forgiving axis.

A warm, familiar weight is in my other hand. My vape. I bring it to my lips and take a long, smooth pull, the sweet, berry-flavored vapor doing absolutely nothing to cut through the whisky fog.

The crowd near the portrait hole seems to part, a ripple of attention moving through the room like a chill. A tall, pale figure steps through, his sharp features set in a look of impatient disdain as his grey eyes scan the room.

He’s looking for someone.