"Hi, Avy! Were you looking for me?" came Silas's familiar voice, low and slightly slurred, as his arms tightened around Avery from behind like a vice. His head dipped slightly against her shoulder, and for a fleeting second, she could feel the rise and fall of his breath—slow, deep, and strangely vulnerable.
The use of her old nickname tugged at her heart unexpectedly.
Avery stiffened for a moment before she quickly stepped out of his arms, turning around in surprise. Her eyes widened when she saw him swaying slightly on his feet, his usually sharp gaze replaced with a languid, dazed one. His tie was a bit loose, his lips stretched in a ridiculous grin, and the faint smell of alcohol lingered on his breath.
"Silas—are you drunk!?" she asked, completely caught off guard. Her tone was sharper than intended, but the shock was too genuine to mask.
