He caught the eye of the other bartender, a silent woman named Elara who communicated through eyebrow raises and the precise clink of ice scoops. She nodded once, then began subtly turning away other customers. “Water main break in the back,” she’d lie. “Ten minutes.”

Leo nodded.

Sully stared at it. “That’s… water with weeds in it.”

It was going to be one of those weeks. But that was fine. The Last Pour didn’t run out of whiskey. And it never, ever ran out of repacks.

The next night, a woman in a raincoat sat at the far end of the bar, staring at her hands. Leo caught Elara’s eye. She tilted her head toward the locked cabinet.