Page 19 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“Rory.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Leave it.”

“—that secret person you refuse to tell me about?”

“Shh!” I hissed, pressing a finger to my mouth.

Rory laughed in delight. “I’m onto you, brother. You can’t keep secrets from me. I’ll start following you if I have to.”

Something in my face made him laugh even harder. The sudden image of Rory stalking me and discovering my Felix-stalking sessions had me feeling faint.

“Don’t… don’t do that,” I whispered, but he only laughed as he waved goodbye to me, off to cause drama elsewhere.

Present Day

December 2026

6

Felix

Ishifted my weight from foot to foot, the pavement cold beneath my trainers. Twenty-three minutes now. The lime tree above me dropped another yellowed leaf onto my shoulder, and I brushed it off with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling.

He wasn’t coming.

The knowledge settled through me like code compiling—inevitable, final. Kit was never late. When we secretly met here before work, he was always waiting under this tree when I arrived, no matter how early I managed to drag myself out of bed. I’d suspected for ages that he arrived stupidly early, just in case I did the same.

My phone screen glowed as I checked our messages for the fifteenth time:

Are you okay to meet at our spot before work tomorrow? I want to talk to you.

Kit

I'll be there.

Simple. Direct. Kit didn’t waste words in texts, but he’d never broken a promise either. Not once.

The small terracotta pot in my hand felt ridiculous now. The Philodendron Pink Princess inside was barely six inches tall, its heart-shaped leaves gleaming with streaks of bright pink against dark green. I’d dragged Lily all the way to a specialist nursery in Kew yesterday, spending nearly two hours on Tubes and buses for one tiny plant.

“This is mental,” Lily had said, watching me inspect leaf after leaf for the best variegation. “It’s just a plant, Felix.”

“It’s not just a plant,” I’d replied, carefully selecting the one with the most vivid pink streaking. “It’s… it’s important.”

“So what exactly are you going to tell him when you give him this?” my sister had asked on the journey home, the precious cargo balanced on my lap.

“None of your business,” I’d replied, bopping her on the head.

I’d carefully placed the pot in my bag, sandwiching it between my headphones and a packet of biscuits. The care instructions were burned into my brain—bright, indirect light, well-draining soil, water when top inch is dry. My rucksack was definitely failing on the light requirements, but hopefully Kit would forgive a few minutes of darkness.

I’d stroked the heart-shaped leaves before I zipped up the bag. The metaphor wasn’t lost on me—my heart felt just as delicate, just as likely to crumple if handled wrong.

A bus rumbled past, belching diesel fumes. Early commuters hurried along the pavement, clutching coffee cups and staring at their phones. Normal people living normal lives, not standing under trees wondering if they’d been stood up.

Maybe there had been an emergency. Kit might have been called away on some urgent team business—a security breach, a last-minute job, something that couldn’t wait. That had to be it. Kit didn’t just… disappear.

I shouldered my rucksack and walked towards the hotel. By the time I reached the peeling side door, I’d convinced myself that Kit would be inside, probably in the kitchen making a cup of instant coffee, ready with a rambling grand speech of an apology for why he couldn’t meet me.

As soon as I passed Dolly, voices drifted from the kitchen—Flynn’s laugh, Priya’s loud commentary on something. Normal sounds. Everything exactly as it should be.

Except Kit’s laugh wasn’t among them.