Nash returned home alone.
Bottles of alcohol, dirty clothes, rubbish - they made the already cramped space almost unbearably tight.
The man languidly took a bottle of brandy from a cupboard, leaning against a cotton-stuff sofa. He poured the alcohol directly into his mouth, his eyes a lifeless gray, almost making one wonder if his world had been reduced to nothing but an endless gray expanse.
He was an excellent actor, and no one could reconcile the image of this despairing man with the cool-as-ice persona he had just donned in front of Hewitt.
Perhaps this current appearance of a hopeless drunkard - or that of a man secretly plotting to uncover the truths of this world - was the real him.
Now, this two-faced man had turned himself into bait, all for the sake of unveiling the truth hidden beneath the veneer of beauty.
