I left Veronica with a promise to "continue the tour later" and moved down the bar toward Marcus Webb. He was on his third whiskey, staring into the amber liquid like it held answers to problems that liquor had never solved for anyone.
As I slid onto the stool next to Marcus Webb, he looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on me, a mixture of curiosity and wariness etched on his face. "Rough night?" I asked, my voice a low, smooth purr, a gentle inquiry into the depths of his turmoil.
Webb's gaze lingered on me, his eyes a window into the troubled waters of his soul. "All nights are rough in this business," he replied, his voice a low, gravelly tone, a hint of the weight he carried.
I introduced myself, my handshake firm and confident, a gesture that spoke volumes about my intentions. "Peter Carson. New member. Just joined tonight." Webb's handshake was automatic, his grip firm but tired, a reflection of the burdens he bore.
