Splayed on the floor with his back to the wall, Danny squeezes his powder-dusted plastic bag. He flexes, releases. The plastic floats from his hand and onto the tile. Peaceful. Gentle. Disgusting.

Danny rolls his head against the wall. His breath skips past numb teeth. Shame and dread curdle into a sharp mass that slices through his chest. Voices boom in his head-his sponsor, his mother, Matt.

Eleven years wasted in eleven seconds. Plus six minutes to break the crystals into dust and roll up his leftover twenty.

Thirty minutes ago? Unstoppable. Successful. Respectable.

Now? Back where he started.