The seventh-floor apartment at 18 Campbell Parade, Bondi Beach, was pitch black, save for a weak orange light from a desk lamp casting shadows on a wall stained with dried sea salt. The July rain in Sydney fell heavily; droplets slid down the foggy glass like cuts across the heart of the man huddled in the cracked leather armchair. A cup of peppermint tea, cold since the afternoon, sat untouched on the rosewood table, its scent mingling faintly with the smell of dried leaves and the lingering aroma of Jameson whiskey from the night before. Alex Thompson, forty-nine years old, let out a sigh so heavy it felt as though he were dragging a decade of exhaustion out of the broad chest that had once been his pride during his semi-pro rugby days with the Eastern Suburbs.