“It usually means somebody dangerous thinks they’re smarter than everybody else.”
Despite everything, a rough laugh escapes me. “That is surprisingly accurate.”
“There’s the smile.” She nudges my arm lightly. “I was wondering where it went.”
The smile dies quickly.
Not because of her.
Because I do not know how to carry both worlds at once. Sweet Tooth and Savio Lenrog. Warm pastry air and men delivering threats beneath transit lights. Evie laughing beside arcade machines while organized crime quietly measures her as leverage.
My silence stretches too long.
She squeezes my arm once. “Hey.”
I look down.
“Whatever it is,” she says softly, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”
The words strike hard enough that breathing becomes difficult for a moment.
I cannot promise that.
I cannot involve her further.
I cannot stand the thought of shutting her out either.
So I do the cowardly thing and say nothing.
Halo greets us with drizzle and neon decay. The streets here shine with puddled rainwater and flickering holo-signs patched so many times the colors barely align anymore. Music leaks from second-story apartments. Someone argues loudly three blocks over. Harbor fog crawls between buildings in pale ribbons carrying salt, oil, and distant engine smoke.
The walk to her apartment feels quieter than the rest of the evening. Not awkward. Full. My thoughts grind against each other while Evie walks beside me with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets.
At Mercy Street, she finally says, “You know what’s unfair?”
“What?”
“You somehow got more handsome after dancing.”
“That is unlikely.”
“You smiled.”
“That was temporary.”
“Still counts.”
“I nearly destroyed the grav-ball machine.”
“You adapted.”
“You defeated me at racing.”
“You hit a support column.”
“It appeared suddenly.”
She laughs softly, and some of the tightness inside me loosens despite myself.
