Elena texts back

The lobby light flickers as I push through the building's heavy door, the faint buzz of it cutting through the quiet. My feet echo up the stairs, too loud in the stillness, and I fumble with my keys at the apartment door, the metal cold against my fingers. Inside, the space feels emptier than usual, the air stale and untouched, no soft sounds or waiting shadow to greet me. Sarah's absence registers dimly, like a half-remembered dream, but I don't dwell on it. Mia must have kept her late at the cafe, or some other pull. The place is just shadows and silence, and I slump onto the couch, kicking off my shoes, the worn cushions giving way beneath me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, sharp and insistent, pulling me upright. I fish it out, heart kicking oddly, and there it is. Elena's name on the screen. The message glows in the dim light. "Hey. Sorry for the radio silence, busy night. I've been thinking about this morning. It was real, what we said in the park. Still hurts a bit, but I get it. You're honest, at least. Want to grab lunch tomorrow? No pressure."

A breath I didn't know I was holding escapes me, warm against the chill of the room. It's hesitant, yes, the space between sentences feels like a careful step on thin ice, but positive, a thread of light cutting through the fog. Hope stirs, fragile and warm, curling in my chest like the first sip of coffee on a too-cold morning. She's opening the door, just a crack, and for a second, I can almost see it. Her sharp green eyes softening again, the easy press of her knee against mine, no apps or whispers needed.

But the thought twists as I set the phone down, staring at the blank wall. Should I tell her? Lay it all bare. The app, the symbiote latched to my mind, feeding on control like a parasite that's growing roots. Explain the sudden confidence that's reshaped me, the way I walk taller, command rooms without trying, threads of power humming under my skin. The women I've bent, Sarah's devotion a hollow echo, Tessa's eager surrender, even Jordan's erased night in the alley. What would she see if I spilled it? A monster wearing my face, or just a man fighting the pull?

I lean back, eyes closing, the ceiling fan's soft whir blending with the distant hum of traffic outside. She accepted the physical truth this morning, the other women as fleeting shadows, but this? The app's grip, its blowback clawing at my edges, the buried hunger that's starting to feel like mine. Would she stay? Pull away with that same hurt flash in her eyes, or lean in closer, intrigued by the storm I'm carrying? The depression eases a fraction, displaced by the what-ifs, but the app remains silent in my pocket, a watchful weight. I thumb back a simple reply. "Sounds good. Looking forward to it." I let the phone fall to my side. The night stretches on, uncertain but not entirely lost.