“You… said he’s thirty-two,” I murmur, because that’s the only thing my brain manages to catch from the whirlwind Maksim just unloaded on me.
He opens his mouth, closes it, then narrows his eyes at me.
“You know Sasha’s turning thirty next year, right?”
“I know that.”
“Then it’s not a big deal,” he says with a shrug. “He’s ten years older than me. I’m a grown adult. I know what I want.”
“So…” I tilt my head, studying him. “You’re being rejected.”
His eye twitches. “…I guess so.”
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes against the table. Tyler.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” I say, already picking it up. Maksim just waves me off and returns to his food.
“Lucas,” Tyler’s voice comes through—sharp, breathless. “I sent you a link. Go check it.” There’s tension there, but also panic bleeding through every word. He’s breathing hard, and through my hearing aid, the sound feels uncomfortably close, too loud.
“Okay,” I say cautiously. “But… are you alright, Ty?”
There’s a pause.
“I’m fine,” he says, clipped. “Just check it.”
The call ends.
My thumb hovers for a second before I open our messages. He sent it a few minutes ago. I tap the link.
A news site loads.
My gaze snags on the headline, and it’s like the air in my lungs turns to stone.
Two faces stare back at me from the photo—smiling, carefree, exactly as I remember them in the worst way possible. My brain refuses to connect the image with the bold words screaming above it:
TWO ROOMMATES FOUND DEAD IN THEIR APARTMENT, BRUTALLY MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD.
I blink, but the headline doesn’t change.
My pulse thunders in my ears, a deep pounding that drowns out everything else. My fingers tremble as I scroll down.
The article is short, just bare facts, but each one feels like a blow. They were found in their apartment after friends and family couldn’t reach them for two days. It’s been a week since the murder. The story has been trending for days, fueled bywhispers of how gruesome the details were, though nothing specific is printed here.
My throat feels tight, my chest constricting with a pressure I can’t shake. I read the words again, as if repetition would make them make sense. But all I can feel is the echo of my heartbeat and the sudden, suffocating truth—
They’re gone.
“Lucas.”
It’s Maksim’s voice—muffled, like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall. My eyes are still glued to the words on my screen. The letters blur, swimming together, refusing to stay still.
“Lucas.” This time it’s sharper, closer, but the sound feels detached from the world I’m in. My head is light, like I’m floating and sinking all at once.
There’s a sudden movement. My phone is gone. It takes a second to realize Maksim’s taken it from my hand. I force myself to look up.
He’s reading the article, brow raised, no flicker of shock or disgust. Just… a blank sort of observation, like he’s checking the weather.
The phone buzzes in his hand. He glances at it and wordlessly passes it back to me. My fingers fumble over the smooth glass, my grip shaky as I swipe to answer.
