topsykrett

Landen gripped the steering wheel a little too tight as he pulled into the parking lot of The Rusty Anchor, a dive bar tucked away in an old warehouse district where the neon sign flickered like it wa

I walk through the door of our apartment, the weight of the day clinging to my shirt like a bad habit. The place smells like vanilla and something sharper—her perfume, maybe, mixed with the faint tang

You step through the door of our apartment, the faint scent of takeout from last night's forgotten carton still hanging in the air like a lazy ghost. It's been a long day at the office, the kind where