The city felt louder that evening, like every car horn and every passing laugh was pushing Maylen toward something she wasn’t ready to name. Aiden’s messages burned in her pocket, and Lanry’s silence felt like a shadow pressed against her back.
At nine-thirty, she found herself at the coffee shop near her building—neutral ground, public, bright. If the world was turning into a chessboard, then this was the safest square.
Lanry arrived first.
He walked in like a storm given human shape—jaw tight, eyes feral with worry and possessiveness he didn’t bother to tame. The moment he spotted her, something ruptured in his expression, equal parts relief and accusation.
“You got my messages,” he said, sliding into the booth without asking. “Why didn’t you reply?”
“Because I needed to think,” May
