“Fine. Keep talking. This better be good.”
He brightens instantly. “Right. So far we’ve tried—don’t judge—some kind of root mash situation, a fruit we’re not entirely sure is safe, and something that may or may not have been originally used as livestock feed.”
Jack blinks slowly. “And you drank this?”
“Wesampledit,” Sonny corrects.
“And?”
Sonny hesitates.
“That bad, huh?” I say.
“It’s… evolving,” he says carefully.
I laugh again, softer this time. It still pulls, still hurts, but not enough to stop it. “Mate,” I say, shaking my head, “that’s not alcohol. That’s a biohazard.”
“It’s a work-in-progress,” Sonny insists. “Great things take time.”
I purse my lips. “Great things usually don’t try to kill you.”
“Debatable.”
Jack drags a hand down his face. “I cannot believe this is what we’re doing now. Surviving a hostile dimension, and you’re out here brewing poison.”
“You say poison,” Sonny says, pointing at him, “I say innovation.”
“I say you’re an idiot.”
“Also true.”
I lean back slightly against the table, letting the banter settle around me. For a moment, it’s easy. Easy in a way I haven’t felt in… a long time.
“Honestly,” I say after a beat, “I wouldn’t even know where to start anymore.”
They both glance at me.
“With what?” Sonny asks.
“Drinking,” I say.
There’s a small pause.
“Been a while?” Sonny asks.
I nod once. “Yeah. Probably… sixteen years.”
Jack’s brows rise slightly.
Sonny goes still for half a second, something flickering behind his eyes—not surprise, exactly, more like he’s fitting a piece into place.
Jack tilts his head. “How long you been here?”
“About ten,” I say.
“Right.” He hesitates, then adds, a bit more carefully, “So… you were sober before that?” Then he immediately grimaces. “Sorry. That’s—none of my business.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Not sober,” I say. “Not really.”
