Phil’s breath fogs the air as he walks, hands deep in the pockets of his coat. The night is sharp — the kind of cold that slices rather than settles. It’s late. Too late, really, for him to be wandering the backstreets of Bristol like a man trying to outwalk his conscience.
He told his husband Craig he was on a date. It wasn’t even a particularly creative lie — something about meeting a guy from the gym, the one who collects Star Wars LEGO and has questionable taste in craft beer. Craig didn’t ask questions. That’s the supposed beauty of a polyamorous relationship: you don’t have to lie. Except when you do.
He hates it. The deception sits wrong in his chest, heavier each time. But some things — this thing — can’t be explained. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The truth could destroy everything.
The street is quiet, save for the occasional hiss of passing cars. Bright lights paint the pavement orange, stretching his shadow long and thin. He takes a turn down a narrow lane, cutting through towards the main road. He knows every shortcut by heart — the same ones he and Craig have walked a hundred times after dinner, laughing about something daft on TV.
Phil hadn’t planned to see James tonight. But things had escalated at James’s house, and they had to reconvene. Every time they met, it came with a quiet kind of dread that he carried home like static under his skin.
But things were in motion now, and momentum demanded precision. Timing, words, appearances.
Phil tells himself he’s done everything exactly as agreed. Every call, every message, every little handover or whisper followed the plan to the letter. He’s been careful—painfully careful—because with James, precision isn’t optional. It’s survival. One wrong word, one accidental look, and the whole thing could collapse.
Things are at a knife edge now. One mistake, one step out of the plan, one missed text, and the truth could all come out.
But no one can know what they’re planning. Not Craig. Not anyone.
Because if they did—if anyone even suspected—it wouldn’t just be the plan that went up in flames.
And with so much at stake, there can be no loose ends.
His phone buzzes. Craig.
He hesitates before answering. “Hey.”
“Where are you?” Craig’s voice is tight, brisk — the work voice that means something’s happened.
“About five minutes away. Why?”
“It’s Tom,” Craig says. “Daniel broke in. Assaulted him.”
Phil stops walking. The cold air feels denser suddenly. “What?”
“He’s okay—well, not okay, but alive. I’m about to call it in and go over.”
Phil swallows hard. “Jesus, Craig. Is he ok?”
“No, not really. It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in when I’m home, although not sure when that will be.”
“Okay, do you want me to come with you?”
“No, no, get to bed,” Craig says. “Stay home, I’ll message when I know more.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
But before he can say anything else—before he can even process what he hears—the sound comes.
Tyres.
Fast.
Behind him.
A flash of headlights arcs across the pavement. The roar of an engine.
He turns instinctively, raising a hand against the glare — and the car is already there. Metal and motion, too close, too fast.
