At thirty-eight, Tommy possessed the kind of quiet confidence that came from mastering something difficult through years of dedicated practice. His hands moved with economical precision as he prepared the evening’s mise en place—slicing citrus wheels, checking ice levels, and arranging bottles with the choreographed efficiency of someone who had performed these rituals thousands of times.

Tonight felt different, though he couldn’t articulate exactly why. Perhaps it was the unusually subdued energy from the kitchen staff, or the way his manager Kevin had avoided making direct eye contact during their brief afternoon meeting. Maybe it was simply the weight of another Thursday evening stretching ahead, filled with the familiar rhythm of orders and conversations that had begun to blur together into an indistinguishable stream of professional obligation.

Saints & Sinners had been