Lucian Voss

It was just after midnight when her message finally came through.

I was sitting all alone in my penthouse. The room was dim, quiet except for the soft hum of the television in the background. I hadn’t paid attention to it in hours. A glass of scotch sat in my hand, still full. I hadn’t taken a single sip. I wasn’t even sure why I’d poured it in the first place. Maybe out of habit. Maybe just to feel like I had something to hold.

My phone rested in my other hand. I had been staring at it for the last hour, doing nothing but rereading the last...