Atlas noticed my anxious demeanor and comforted me with a pat on the back. “You can sleep first. I’ll see who it is.”

He got up, put on his slippers, and approached the door. I couldn’t help but wonder who could be visiting so late at night. After all, we hadn’t lived here for quite some time. While contemplating, I got out of bed and straightened my sleepwear before leaving the bedroom.

When I reached the landing, I peeked downstairs and saw Atlas opening the door. A figure then entered with a bottle of alcohol. It was Oliver. His lean silhouette appeared even more frail in the dim light. He looked desolated.

Oliver forced a bitter smile when he saw Atlas, asking, “You’re still awake?”

Atlas walked into the living room and said indifferently, “How can I sleep if you ring the bell like that? Why are you here?”

I felt a pang of pity for Oliver. The once prominent figure had fallen so far. His former grace and eloquence were non-existent. I suspected he had lost his nightly destinat