Duncan had not slept in two days, infact he barely got sleep for a week.
The city lights bled through the blinds of the rented apartment, thin stripes of orange cutting across the dark room like prison bars. The place smelled like stale coffee, gun oil, and the sour impatience of a man who had been replaying the same thoughts for forty-eight straight hours.
He stood by the window with a mug of cold coffee in his hand, staring down at the quiet street below, jaw tight, eyes hollow.
This was the city.
The city where Twink had vanished into thin air and reappeared as someone else.
He had learnt through an anonymous source that he went by Peaches now.
He rolled the name around in his head like something rotten.
Peaches.
The reports had been consistent. Golden hair. Soft face. Effeminate grace. Living inside Midnight's estate like a pampered pet. Seen walking the gardens. Seen laughing. Seen clinging to Midnight's arm in the club as if Duncan had never existed.
