煙の中の静寂

The bar lights are dim, the air thick with smoke, like unspoken words left hanging in the air. I sit at the counter, rolling a nearly finished cigarette between my fingers. In my empty glass, the last bits of melting ice shift softly, making a faint clinking sound.

"You’re unusually quiet tonight," the bartender remarks while wiping down a glass. I let out a small smile but say nothing. Silence isn’t so bad, especially for someone like me. Killers should always be prepared to be killed. But on nights like this, in the lull of an uneventful routine, I can still find a fleeting sense of peace.

The scent of smoke lingers on my clothes. Outside, neon lights flicker as the city moves on as usual. At least for now, I am still here.