My pulse kicks harder.
It isn’t an invitation.
It’s a warning.
Silas just sent me a message.He’s telling me I need to go to Barrone Street.
And I have less than five minutes to decide whether to listen—or walk straight into something I won’t be able to undo.
Jagger
Either she’s getting sentimental about church flyers—which doesn’t track—or she’s reconsidering whether she can actually do this.
Marquez is due any minute.The last thing I need is hesitation now.
I don’t say anything.Don’t move.I let the moment pass without touching it, but my attention narrows, sharp and focused.For the first time since I met her, a thought edges in that I don’t like.
What if there’s something I didn’t factor in?
She isn’t looking at me.Isn’t really looking anywhere.Her gaze has gone distant, unfixed, like she’s already halfway inside a decision she hasn’t voiced yet.
She’s weighing something.
Or maybe she’s not weighing anything at all.
Maybe this is deliberate.
A pause placed just right.A moment of doubt meant to read as human.Uncertain.Real.
The idea slides down my spine like ice water.
What ifthisis the performance?
I’ve watched her lie to everyone else without breaking stride.Watched her shift personas as easily as changing clothes.Calm.Convincing.Surgical.What makes me think I’m seeing anything different now?
I shift my weight, careful not to draw her eye, every instinct wound tight.My whole operation depends on reading her right—on trusting that when it matters, she’ll be exactly who I need her to be.
Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.
And I’m starting to realize I’ve been spending it anyway.
If she’s playing me—if I misjudged her from the start—I won’t see it until it’s too late, until I’m standing in front of Marquez with nothing to show for it.
Or worse.
With a partner who’s already decided how this ends—and it doesn’t include coming to Vegas with me.
Adena
The nausea hits in waves.The same sick, hollow feeling from when I was ten years old while a judge asked me to choose.Mom or Dad.As if choosing one didn't mean abandoning the other.
I should walk.Get on the bike and disappear before Marquez shows.Before this goes any further.Before I'm in so deep there's no surface left to reach for.
It would be the smart play.The safe play.
But I can't.
Jagger shifts his weight.I catch the micro-movement—his hand drifting toward his side, then stopping.Controlling himself.
