The scene shifted again.
It was the next day now.
Noah's phone buzzed incessantly. It was likely his employer sending an official termination notice, which was nothing more than a formality at this point after the stunt he'd pulled last night.
Following his father's death, the apartment he lived in alone had only grown even darker and filthier. It truly was a prison of his own making.
Noah was sitting there in his usual chair with the gaming controller still clutched in his hands and glazed eyes still fixed on the blank TV screen before him.
Dust coated the corners of the room and trash had piled into haphazard mountains all around the place. Yet the boy's hollow gaze never left the TV.
The Lord of Stories drifted through the apartment, inspecting every grimy surface. "What were ye saying about never changing the story?"
Samael's lips tightened. "The past… it doesn't matter. So what if I left out some details from my previous life? It has no bearing on my current one."
