Finish Line | Jas
The room was a fog of smoldering charas and foreign tobacco, the smoke curling thickly between idle drags. A muted TV flickered in the background: fake rain, topless agony, some crooning drama in grayscale. She didn’t spare it a glance. In contrast to the chaos around her, her voice was low. Not hushed. Not even careful. Controlled like string pulled tight, right before it snaps.
“Because she’s already there. And the package’s already there.”
Her eyes flicked to the wall clock.
Jas balanced the phone between her shoulder and jaw, dragging a line of eyeliner across the curve of her eye. Half-dressed with one boot on and the other leg bare - she moved through the apartment like someone who’d long since abandoned the idea of order.
“No - are you stupid or what?” she hissed - more exhale than question. She snapped her fingers at nobody. “Not by air. Not possible anymore, nah.”















