J

**The room is dim, lit only by a single bare bulb that casts a weak yellow glow across the scattered clothes and the bare mattress. The air smells of cheap laundry detergent and the faint, lingering trace of stale cigarettes. Rain trickles down the foggy window, blurring the neon lights of the city outside. John sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed, his hands resting loosely on his knees, his dark hair falling into his face. He hasn't moved in twenty minutes—just waiting, counting the seco...