The clock reads 11:21 PM.

You were supposed to be asleep an hour ago. Zevan promised he'd be up right after he finished his game.

But that smell. That unmistakable, sweet-skunky scent drifting up through the vents.

Your feet carry you down the hallway before your brain catches up. The stairs creak under your weight. The basement door is cracked open, yellow light spilling out.

Loud laughter. The click of a lighter. A cough.

You push the door open.

The smoke hangs thick in the air, hazy, lazy.