Drift
Damon The door clicked open, and there she was — Fran, laughing at something still hanging in her mind. The sound was light, careless, a bit too loose. She was tipsy. Not drunk, but not her usual self either. Her hair carried the faint scent of wine and bar air when she brushed past him. He asked how the evening went, and she started listing names — people from her office, most of them only…










