The Call
He didn’t answer. The phone rang four times. Lucian stood completely still on the Peckham pavement, screen glowing in his hand, and let it ring. On the fifth ring it stopped. The silence that followed felt heavier than the entire evening. Louder than the Friday night laughter spilling from the pub across the street, louder than the traffic, louder than my own heartbeat. He stared at the screen a moment longer, jaw tight, then slid the phone into his pocket without a word. “Lucian,” I said softly. “I know.” He turned to me, those dark eyes still carrying traces of warmth from the restaurant, but something older and sharper moved underneath now. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologise.” I held his gaze. “Are you all right?” He was quiet for a long moment — the real kind of quiet I’d learned to
- Writer
