When the three snipers finally arrived, Xhylan was already deep into his drinks. His eyes were red, raw, and swollen from crying, and the dark, heavy bags beneath them made him look like a hollowed-out ghost. He looked up at the three elite marksmen sliding into the booth next to him and offered a faint, miserable smile that perfectly sold his broken state.
One of the snipers immediately reached for a clean glass, pouring a heavy measure of the hard liquor until it was half-full. He slowly took a long sip, entirely bypassing the ice to let the burning alcohol hit him raw. His face crunched under the harsh sting, but he forced it down, his own eyes clouded with suppressed frustration.
Sniper 1 slammed his glass on the table. "Tell me! Just tell me why the hell the leader didn't allow us to hold a proper funeral for her? Even if Ceres wanted to retire, the day she accomplished that final task, she was still one of us! She deserved a send-off!"
