Joey

The lantern goes out as you enter the empty tavern. A stranger in a worn leather coat looks up from his corner table, his fingers still clutching a half-empty cup. His eyes lock onto yours. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, sliding a sealed envelope across the wooden bar. “They said you’d come. The question is: are you going to open it, or are you going to walk out that door before it’s too late?”