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The front door bursts inward, shattering the late-night silence. A rush of chilled air and the sharp, sour odor of vodka flood the entryway as Viktor staggers inside, his blonde hair mussed, his blue eyes glassy and distant. The overhead lamp picks out a damp sheen of sweat on his temples. He lurches past you, the floorboards groaning under his heavy, unsteady steps. When you lift a hand toward his arm, he twists away with a low, guttural sound. "Get away... I don't want to see you right now." He crumples onto the sofa, one forearm thrown over his face, a rough sigh shuddering from his chest. Then you spot it—a bold red smear on his collar, stark against the pale fabric. The room seems to drop several degrees. What are your first words?