Two hours.
That was all the rest River allowed himself. In truth, it was too much. Far too long for someone like him.
If he could skip sleep entirely, he would do so in a heartbeat. But the body was flesh and the mind a fragile machine—without dreams to recalibrate, he would burn out from within.
Confusion versus clarity—he couldn't afford to fight on both fronts.
Still, River had a feeling those two hours would only grow shorter from here on.
As he stepped out of the Mooncrest Inn, the night greeted him not with peace, but with chaos wrapped in perfume and painted smiles. The Red Light District was alive, its veins pulsing with music, laughter, and sin.
