The neon glow of the bar flickered against the bottles lining the shelves, casting their reflections onto the polished countertop.
The place was quieter than usual, with only a handful of patrons occupying the dimly lit space.
It was exactly the kind of atmosphere Anzo needed right now—somewhere he could drown out the images burned into his mind. He ran a hand through his damp, sweat-streaked hair and let out a slow breath.
He raised a hand to the bartender as he slid onto a stool. "Something strong. Doesn't matter what."
Axel, who had barely even taken his seat, turned to him with a surprised expression.
"Wait, hold on. Since when do you go for the hard stuff? You're usually the 'I need to keep my head clear' type."
