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VINCENT

F ive sad assholes sit around a table. Do they eat their breakfast or pick at it?

The answer is...

The depressing joke dissipates in a cloud of nostril burning perfume. I hack, looking behind me to see if… Fuck I don't know, but it reeks in here.

I look around the table, but they're all just zoned out in their eggs. Ugh. Covering my nose doesn't even block it out.

"Fuck. Does anyone smell that?"

"What?" Sam and Oli say at the same time. Emmett shakes his head.

My eyebrows slam down.

What the fuck is that?!