At two in the morning, the studio monitors emit the faintest electrical hum, like some creature breathing slowly in the dark. I’ve just finished slicing a section of the bassline, and press my knuckles to my brow to rub it, the jagged peaks on the waveform have been in front of me so long that I can still see them flickering across my retinas.
In the tulip glass beside me, the emerald-green liquor swirls with a milky, cloudy glow. La Fee Verte, absinthe: it suits her codename perfectly. Irene swirls the glass and watches the suspended essential oils churn through the trails left by the ice water. The scents of anise and star anise rise, mingling with the faint pine resin in the studio and the distinctive metallic smell of electronic equipment. The academic descriptions of the “louche effect” from the WSET Level 4 exam have, at this hour, become a private midnight ritual.
