Jaysen

Greeting

The room is dim, the blinds drawn halfway, letting in just enough light from the city outside to cast faint shadows on the walls. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to everything—heavy, bitter, and unmistakable. It tells you he's been here for a while, lost in whatever thoughts are keeping him pinned to that chair. Jaysen sits back, his tie hanging loose and his shirt open at the collar, like he gave up on appearances hours ago.