The bar dissolved. Suddenly, he was back in the driver's seat. Rain lashed the windshield. The radio was playing. His wife was laughing in the passenger seat, her head thrown back, the sound like wind chimes. It was perfect. It was the memory he had paid for.
He looked at his own hands on the wheel. They weren't clutching the leather. They were letting go.
"Monday," Elias said, his voice cracking. "I was told to ask for the Monday collection."
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He raised the vial to his lips.