The Scent of Secrets
I felt the pull of the villa behind me, the warm light from our bedroom a beacon of safety I was walking away from.
Jurgina Bar’s flickering neon sign cast a sickly yellow glow on the street, illuminating a dark, peeling door. Inside, the noise was a physical thing, a cacophony of music, laughter, and slurred voices. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke clung to the air. I made my way to the second floor, my pulse a frantic drumbeat against my ears. The hallway was a long, dark tunnel. Room 8 was at the very end.
Bab Populer