SLOANE
*“I’m interested in someone else.”*
God… I didn’t mean to overhear their conversation.
I hadn’t meant to stop in the hallway.
I’d been coming upstairs for a charger—mine was still plugged in the basement from the heat-wave exile—and their voices had carried through the cracked door with the particular clarity of a house that had already proven it kept no secrets.
*“I’m interested in someone else.”*
I stood very still for three full seconds.
Then I kept walking.
Down the hall. Into my room. Door closed. Charger forgotten entirely.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the opposite wall.
*Someone else.*
Not Brittany. Not a name. Not *her*. Just—someone else. Delivered in that flat, closed-door tone he used when he was being honest and hated that he was being honest.
I
