Enoch's shot is bad, but not nearly as bad as whatever Crysta is experiencing. More cranberry juice and Campari than food colouring and regret. He watches impassively as Crysta cycles through the nine circles of hell before he grabs the yellow shot, and gestures to the next in line. "Drink the next one. Wash the flavour out."

He holds out his glass for another clink, and frowns. "Jack, really? I thought you two were just old party friends."