Maybe I'm finally free of this shit...

Saturday comes with sunlight leaking through the blinds, and for once it feels nice. I stretch out in bed and I don’t feel that weight on my chest, not from Carter, not from her. I’m job-insecure as hell, probably one step away from becoming another disposable name in HR’s inbox, and yet I feel better than I have all week. I make coffee, I shower too long, I even make a halfway-decent attempt at reading a book I bought a year ago, and when Ryan texts me about lunch I say yes before I can invent a reason to say no.

He’s already waiting at the café when I show up, looking like a guy who slept maybe four hours but is trying his best not to make it obvious. He stands when he sees me and grins in that sheepish way that makes me wonder how Monica ever fell for him in the first place, but I sit down anyway because he’s not the worst company when he’s not lying through his teeth.

We order, we eat, and halfway through the conversation he repeats that he ended it with Vanessa for good. And I believe he actually did, he knows I hold him by the balls. He goes on and swears he’ll do right by Monica, that he’ll keep his dick in his pants. He only asks that I keep quiet about it.

“Fine,” I say, pointing my fork at him. “But if you screw this up again, I’m going to personally make sure you never sit comfortably again. Consider that a binding contract.”

He laughs nervously, but I keep my tone light. There’s no reason to keep him buried in guilt, not when he’s already halfway sunk in it. Besides, I’m in a decent mood today and kicking him while he’s down doesn’t exactly scream productive use of my time. Not today, anyway.

He pivots, as he always does, back to the topic neither of us should say out loud in public. He lowers his voice, leans across the table, and asks, “So… anything new? With that whole… fangy situation?”

I take a slow sip of my drink. “No. Not a trace. Ariadne hasn’t shown, Lucius either. If you ask me, maybe this whole thing fizzled out before it even began. Maybe I got lucky.”

It’s mostly true, but not all the way. Because part of me wonders. The bite still burns in my memory, and the way the world tilted for a second—fuck. Every now and then I still catch myself wondering what would have happened if Lucius hadn’t stepped in...

I shrug. “Still… there’s a part of me that’s curious. Like, what else is out there, cause it’s obviously not just us, and I kind of want to see more, you know?”

Ryan’s face hardens in a way I don’t usually see. “Don’t. I get it, but don’t. We have no idea how dangerous all that shit is. You’re lucky you even walked away, if you really did. And if you try to chase that world, I don't think it would end just with your curiosity sated. It might end with you dead in some alley... or worse.”

The silence stretches while I stab at the last piece of food on my plate. “Of course I'm not going to push my luck, I'm not suicidal. There are just a lot of questions still open, that's all,” I say, but my tone isn’t convincing even to me.

We don’t push it. The mood stays easy enough. When we stand and walk out, he promises again not to say a word to Monica about any of this, and I tell him he better keep that promise if he wants to keep his life. Then I grin and nudge his shoulder. “Make it up to her tomorrow. Cook her something fancy, light some candles, whatever cheesy bullshit you can manage. You fucked up, but you’re not totally hopeless, and she deserves all the effort. Tomorrow evening I want to see her texting me how you spoiled her all day, got it?”

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles, and we part ways on good terms.

By the time the sun dips, I’m back home and restless, so I climb onto my exercise bike and throw on some music. The pedals spin fast under my legs, my heart thuds, and sweat runs down my back while I push through the burn. For once it feels good, like I’m riding away from the last week, leaving it behind in the static of the speakers.

Then the doorbell rings.

I slow down, my legs still circling as the sound echoes again through the apartment, sharper this time. A chill spreads through me so fast it feels like my skin shrinks a size too small. My hands grip the handlebars tight. Who the hell is at my door on a Saturday night?

Of course my paranoid mind thinks of her. Could she have found me, somehow?

I climb off the bike, wipe my face with the towel hanging over the chair, and pad across the room. My body is moving slow, careful, like the floor might creak too loud. I press one hand against the wall and lean forward until my eye lines up with the peephole.