She reminded herself of that as she chewed.This was work.Important work.She hadn’t come here for anything else.
Ivy straightened, squared her shoulders, and turned back to the mural with renewed determination.Whatever mess Havoc had stirred up inside her, it wasn’t going to ruin this.She refused to let it.
The rest of the afternoon went smoother.The lines flowed again.The colors cooperated.The bike on the wall regained its sense of motion, of purpose.Ivy lost herself in it, letting the hours slide by without watching the gate every few minutes.
She told herself she wasn’t waiting for him.She half expected to see Havoc at some point anyway.To feel that familiar pull of his presence, the way the air seemed to thicken when he was near.Maybe he’d stop by, apologize.
Or maybe he’d do the opposite, tell her plainly that last night had been a mistake and that whatever this was between them was over before it ever really started.Either would have been something, but he didn’t come.
As the light began to fade and Roach announced it was quitting time, disappointment settled quietly in her chest, unwelcome and stubborn.She packed her supplies with practiced efficiency, refusing to examine the feeling too closely.
“You want a ride back?”Roach asked as they walked toward the lot.
Her first instinct was to snap at him.To say she didn’t need anyone chauffeuring her around.The words were already forming when the memory of the art shop rose unbidden.The grin and those eyes that held ill-intent, and the way Havoc had stepped in without hesitation.
She exhaled.
“Yeah,” she said.“That’d be good.”
The ride was easy, the tension of the day easing as the compound fell behind them.When he pulled up in front of her apartment building, Roach cut the engine and glanced at her sideways.
“Forget about Havoc,” he said lightly.“You could do better.”
She snorted.“Is that your professional opinion?”Ivy asked, amused.
He grinned.“I’m available, you know.”
She laughed, genuine this time.“I’ll think about it,” she said.
They both knew she wouldn’t.
Roach tipped an imaginary hat and drove off, leaving Ivy standing on the sidewalk with her bag slung over her shoulder.As she turned toward the entrance, a prickle slid up her spine, sharp and instinctive.
She slowed.The street was eerily quiet.Ivy glanced over her shoulder, scanning the parked cars, the darkened windows, the stretch of sidewalk behind her.Nothing moved.There were no footsteps, no sound of car engines.
Still, the feeling of being watched lingered.Ivy tightened her grip on her bag as she walked faster, keys already in her hand.She unlocked the door and slipped inside, letting it shut firmly behind her before she allowed herself to breathe again.
The apartment felt safe, but as Ivy leaned back against the door, heart still beating a little too fast, she couldn’t shake the unease curling low in her gut.
