Not everything—not yet.But she’s starting to feel it. The cracks in the surface, the moments when I knew too much, when I appeared just a little too quickly, answered questions she hadn’t asked.
I thumb the screen of my phone, pulling up the tracking app synced to her necklace. The small dot blinks steadily—her location lighting up at the station.
I shouldn’t need to check.
But I do.
My grip tightens around the phone as I flip to her messages. Her last exchange with Sophie was about a project—nothing about today, no plans. And nothing from Landon.
It doesn’t reassure me. The absence feels louder than any conversation we could have.Too clean. Too empty.
I set the phone down on the counter, screen facedown.
She knows I’ve been watching.
The question is, why hasn’t she called me out yet?
I exhale, running a hand over the back of my neck.
Let her think she’s hiding something.
Let her play this game.
I’ll win.
The gym doesnothing for me. I’ve been here for hours, pummeling the bags until my knuckles ache and burning through sets until my arms go numb. The exhaustion should be satisfying, but all it leaves is a restless static beneath my skin.
I stare down at my phone as I sit in the locker room, the cool tile biting against my back.
Olivia’s still there—a café near the park. One I don’t recognize. Olivia has been there for the last two hours. I watch the blinking dot of her location as if I could will it to move. She didn’t tell me where she was going, but she’s been there long enough for the question to coil tightly in my chest.
I tell myself not to go. I have no reason to. Still, I feel the tug. A need.
My thumb hovers over the screen, ready to call her. A simple excuse would suffice—ask if she wants me to pick her up, if sheneeds company. But I don’t. Let her sit there. Let her feel like she’s getting away with something.
I stay long enough to watch her location shift, the dot moving steadily toward the train. I leave the gym before she makes it halfway home.
She breezes through the front door minutes after I arrive, the scent of wind and faint espresso clinging to her clothes.
“Hey,” she says in greeting, setting her bag near the kitchen island like it’s any other day.
I lean against the counter, keeping my expression easy. “Hey, baby. How was your afternoon?”
Her green eyes flick to me, gauging. “Good,” she answers lightly.“Just ran some errands. Stopped by a café for a while to read.”
Stopped by.As if it was a fleeting decision, not the hours-long visit I watched from my phone.
I nod, holding her gaze, but say nothing else. She offers no follow-up. No invitation to close the space growing between us. Instead, she moves past me, grazing her fingers across my wrist in a brief, habitual touch before heading toward the bedroom to change.
I track every step.
The movie plays,but I don’t absorb a second of it.Olivia curls against my side on the couch, her head resting beneath my chin. I cradle her there, grateful for the weight of her against me.
But she’s too quiet.
The only sound besides the low hum of the TV is the soft tap of her fingers against her phone. She angles the screen just slightly away from me, not enough to seem deliberate.
I still notice. My grip around her waist tightens slightly, my thumb pressing idly into her ribs.
