It was strange. Noah had never seen a drug like this.
Inside the pamphlet, a line was printed in italics:
Want a taste of power? Try IGNIS.
Further down, there was a small drawing of a clock, the hand fixed at the 30-minute mark.
Thirty minutes for what?
None of it made sense. It felt like gibberish, and his head was pounding too much to decode whatever this was supposed to mean.
Noah had just begun to set everything aside when his bedroom door suddenly swung open.
He jerked, nearly jumping out of his skin.
Lo and behold, Anthony stood in the doorway.
Fuck his life.
"Dad?" Noah called nervously, rubbing his palm against his shirt.
Anthony squinted at him — still obviously drunk — first staring at Noah as if he wasn't sure he was real, then glancing toward the clock on the far wall.
"You're an hour early," he muttered.
Noah lied smoothly. "I wasn't feeling well. A coworker covered my shift."
