I could see that Robert was going to pieces, turning his phone and whispering “No, no,” repeatedly under his breath. I wasn't feeling all there myself, to be honest, so I did the only thing I could think of: I grabbed the scotch and poured us large measures.
“There you go, son” I said, handing him one. He took the glass gingerly, and I held his scatter shot eyes with mine, trying to steady us both mentally. “Bottoms up.” I chinked his glass and drained mine.
“Raven said we'd be safe” he said. “I don't understand.”
