Chapter 5

    I found myself in the bottom of a glass again, the liquid settling like cold truth in my gut. The whiskey swirled, amber and thick, clinging to the sides of the glass like the memories I couldn’t shake. The rain hadn’t let up. It never did, not here. It was like the city had its own way of bleeding out, drop by drop, until nothing remained but the bones.

    Madeleine was still in that clinic, hooked up to those damn machines, each beep echoing in my skull. I’d left her there, not knowing if she’d be alive the next time I walked in, or if Achilles had already decided to pull the plug. It was all a matter of time, wasn’t it? A slow drip, a slow bleed, and then—nothing.

    The bar was dim, just how I liked it, but the weight of what was coming pressed in on me like a shadow I couldn’t shake. Achilles was moving pieces, setting the board, and I was just stumbling through it like I’d already lost. And maybe I had.

    The bartender slid me another drink, heavier this time. The glass thudded against the wood, and I couldn’t help but think of those machines again—their mechanical rhythm, keeping Madeleine tethered to a life she hadn’t asked for.

    “You look like you’ve been counting ghosts,” a voice said, cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

    I didn’t look up right away. I knew the voice. It was deep, a bit too polished, with a touch of something old in it, like someone who’s been around long enough to see everything fall apart and didn’t mind watching it happen again.

    When I finally turned, there he was—Burke. Big, broad, with the kind of build that suggested he could break a man’s spine without trying too hard. He was propped up against the bar, a jug in one hand, the kind they used to serve to men who planned on drinking themselves into oblivion and didn’t want anyone else to notice.

    “Burke,” I muttered, taking another slow sip. “Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this.”

    Burke smiled, a tight-lipped grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “A man’s got to indulge once in a while. But when you indulge, you’ve got to know how much you can weigh before it breaks you.” He hefted the jug, sloshing the liquid inside. “It’s stoutest when you pour it heavy.”

    I didn’t have the energy for riddles. Not tonight. I kept my eyes on the whiskey, feeling the burn slide down my throat. “What do you want, Burke?”

    He set the jug down with a heavy thud, his eyes narrowing. “Achilles.”

    Of course. Achilles. Everything was Achilles now, wasn’t it? That slow drip of his presence, that quiet ticking, like the city was a time bomb and he was holding the switch.

    Burke leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “He’s weighing you, you know. Weighing all of us. Seeing who’s stout enough to survive.”

    I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from my throat, bitter and sharp. “Survive what?”

    Burke’s eyes darkened, the lines of his face deepening as he spoke. “The drain, the slow bleed. The city’s a body, and Achilles has got his hands on its veins. He’s been draining it for years. Now he’s just waiting to see who’s left standing when the last drop falls.”

    I felt the weight of Burke’s words settle in, heavier than the drink in my hand. Achilles wasn’t just some man chasing a vendetta. He was something worse—something patient. He was waiting for the city to die, one slow drip at a time, until all that remained was a hollowed-out shell.

    Burke tilted the jug, pouring himself a glass, the liquid heavy and thick, like blood in a broken heart. “He’s been watching you, too, you know. Weighing you.”

    I didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, watching?”

    Burke’s grin returned, but there was no humor in it. “You crossed him. At the clinic. He knows you’re trying to stop him. He knows about Madeleine.”

    I clenched my jaw. “He’s not going to touch her.”

    Burke raised his glass in a mock toast, his voice low and flat. “You better hope she’s stout enough to handle the weight.”

    I slammed my glass down, the whiskey sloshing over the sides. “What does he want?”

    Burke didn’t answer right away. He took a long drink, his eyes never leaving mine, before finally setting the glass down with a dull thud. “He wants you to see. To see how the world drains, how life gets pulled out of people, drop by drop, until there’s nothing left but the weight.”

    I could feel the tension building in my chest, that familiar tightness, like a noose being pulled taut. Burke stood up, his frame casting a long shadow across the bar. “You’ll feel it soon enough,” he said, grabbing his jug and turning to leave. “We all will.”

    He walked out into the rain, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving me alone with the weight of it all. The machines, the beeping, Achilles—everything blurred together in my mind, thick and suffocating.

    I finished the whiskey, the burn numbing the edges of my thoughts, but I couldn’t shake the cold that had settled into my bones. Achilles was waiting, and so was the city. Waiting for the last drop to fall.

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