Hall finally arrived at Vincent's house, the evening air cool against his skin as he stepped out of his car.

The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open gently, finding Vincent seated on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. The room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the walls.

"Vincent," Hall called softly as he entered, closing the door behind him. Vincent looked up, his eyes tired and red from both alcohol and tears.

"Hall, you made it," Vincent slurred slightly, attempting to sit up straighter but failing. Hall moved to...