Broken Wings

Chapter 2: Unwanted Introductions

The next morning was hell.

Not in the figurative sense. Husk was long past that. Everything here was literal hell. The light in the bar was dimmed just enough to keep from hurting his head, but the ache behind his eyes was persistent, crawling its way through his skull like a goddamn parasite.

He grumbled under his breath, his wings twitching irritably as he refilled his glass. The bar was empty again, save for the faint smell of stale liquor and the residue of last night's interactions. You weren't there. You had left at some point, probably sometime after Angel Dust's dramatic exit. Good riddance. He didn't need the extra company.

Husk took a long sip, letting the burn of the whiskey settle in his chest. He didn't like thinking too hard in the mornings. Hell, he didn't like thinking at all most days, especially about what had happened the night before. Your eyes. That unsettling calm you had, the way you didn't push or pry but somehow managed to get under his skin anyway.

He hated that.

"Good morning, Husk!"

The voice came with the force of a freight train, bright and chirpy enough to make Husk's feathers stand on end. Charlie entered the bar like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds—if the clouds were drenched in misery and sarcasm, and the sunshine was entirely uninvited.

Husk winced, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would block her out. "Too early, Charlie," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, don't be like that," she chirped, unfazed as she skipped behind the bar and began rifling through the shelves like she owned the place—because technically, she did. "You look like you could use some fresh air! Have you been in here all night again?"

Husk grunted, not bothering to answer. Charlie was relentless in her optimism, an unstoppable force that seemed to have no concept of the crushing weight of reality—something Husk had long since resigned himself to. How she kept that kind of energy in a place like this was beyond him.

"You know, Husk," she said, her voice dropping into a more serious tone, "you really should get out more. There's so much more to life—uh, afterlife! I mean, it can't all be drinking and sulking."

"Watch me," Husk growled, taking another sip of his drink. He wasn't in the mood for one of Charlie's lectures about redemption or hope or whatever nonsense she was peddling today.

Charlie, ever the optimist, didn't seem to notice—or didn't care. She just gave him that same bright smile and leaned over the bar, looking around as if she was expecting someone.

"Oh, I heard we had a new guest last night!" she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "I was going to introduce myself, but I didn't want to interrupt you two!"

Husk stiffened. You. She was talking about you. He grunted, his feathers ruffling as he set his glass down with a bit more force than necessary. "They're nobody," he muttered. "Just passing through."

Charlie's smile faltered for just a second, but it was barely noticeable. "Well, still! I'll make sure to say hello if I see them around. Everyone deserves a warm welcome!" She paused, tilting her head slightly as she eyed Husk. "Did they say what they were here for?"

"Nope." Husk's answer was curt, and he hoped that would be the end of it. He wasn't interested in getting into the details of your cryptic demeanor or the unsettling feeling you left in your wake. The less Charlie knew, the better.

Before Charlie could respond, the room seemed to shift. The air grew thicker, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum filled the bar. Husk didn't need to look up to know what was coming next. He could feel the change in the atmosphere, the weight of it pressing down like an invisible hand.