Continued

The credits begin to roll, the music swelling into a triumphant orchestral score that feels mocking in the face of the room's actual dynamics. Under the blanket, Mark let out a final, shuddering breath, his body sagging into the cushions. Alexis calmly withdraws her hand, smoothing the fabric of her skirt before standing up with the effortless poise of a woman who has just finished a crossword puzzle.

“Well,” Chad says, stretching his arms over his head, his face glowing with the satisfaction of a man who has successfully processed a complex narrative. “That was excellent. Best tactical pacing I’ve seen in years. You girls enjoy it?”

Cherie stands up, her movements stiff. She doesn't look at the screen. She looks at the indentation in the recliner where her husband sat like a stone wall. “The action was... fine,” she says, her voice dripping with a subtle, icy sarcasm. “Though I think I’ve seen better 'action' right here in this living room. It’s a shame the romance sub-plot was so underdeveloped. It felt a little... robotic.”

Chad blinks, his optimized mind failing to catch the barb. “It’s a thriller, Cherie. It’s not supposed to be a Hallmark card. Anyway, Mark, I’ll see you to the door.”

Mark stands, avoiding Cherie’s eyes now that the lights are up, though his face is still flushed. He follows Chad out, leaving the women in the dim light of the foyer. Alexis catches Cherie’s eye and gives her a slow, deliberate wink before heading toward the guest room. Cherie doesn't wait for Chad to come back, heading up to her own room.