Page 32 of Infernal Affairs

It's only half true.

There's a blue one hanging in my closet with the tags still attached, bought last summer for an occasion that never happened.

Zelda points triumphantly.

“The blue one! I knew it!”

She shoots Clover a victorious look.

“I told you she'd finally wear it.”

Clover merely sips her tea.

“She will if she wants.”

A small smile tugs at her lips.

“If not, she'll seduce him with cinnamon swans and unfiltered sincerity.”

“Will not⁠—”

The protest dissolves into a giggle before I can finish it.

The afternoon drifts by. Customers wander in and out—a man with a clockwork hearing aid, a new mother steering a stroller capable of crossing mountain ranges, a pair of teenage girls whispering about the coven bake sale.

The world keeps spinning, blissfully unconcerned with whether I'm wearing blue or black or flour-covered overalls.

Eventually the bakery quiets again.

Zelda stretches, her joints cracking loudly.

“I should get to class.”

She tries to sound annoyed.

“Atlas will have a meltdown if I'm late.”

The blush climbing her neck tells a very different story.

I pretend not to notice.

At the door she pauses, smiles over her shoulder, and lowers her voice.

“Good luck.”

Then she winks.

“Rock his world.”

I laugh.

“I'm hoping to survive appetizers.”

CHAPTER 11

ENOCH

Iarrive at Daisy's apartment near the bakery eleven minutes early, which means I walk past the building twice, stop to read a community bulletin board I have no interest in, and spend four minutes pretending to check my phone outside the dry cleaner's two doors down. By the time I finally allow myself to ring the bell, I've had entirely too much time to imagine everything that could go wrong: how I might say precisely the wrong thing, or how Daisy, realizing the true nature of my intentions, might suddenly develop a rare allergy to demonic energy and ghost me for all eternity.