The glass of whiskey in Louis’s hand trembled as he brought it to his lips, but not from the cold. The room around him was dimly lit, the weight of his choices pressing heavily on his chest. The memories of Daisy plagued him relentlessly—her laughter, her warm embrace, the fire in her eyes when she challenged him. They were like ghosts, haunting every corner of his mind.

He closed his eyes, tipping his head back as the bitter liquid burned down his throat. It didn’t help. Nothing did.

In the weeks since her death, he had spiraled into a darkness he could neither escape nor control. At first, it was...