Astrid turned to look at Andrew, who was seated in a cloud of smoke, clothed in black, facing the other end of the room. He was puffing on his cigarette, the cigarette glowing like a tiny firefly in the dim light. “Andrew?” Astrid called out calmly.

Andrew paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to place the voice. Could it be Astrid? he asked himself, a spark of curiosity igniting within him. But he pushed the thought away, dismissing it as impossible. Why would she be here of all places?

“Andrew Thompson?” she called again, her voice a little louder this time, a little more insistent.

Andrew turned to...