My jaw tightens as I turn back toward her, the movement slow and precise. Heat blooms across my cheek—faint, but there. Like the aftershock of a firework going off too close to the skin.
The silence drops hard.
Music still plays, but it’s distant now, irrelevant. The bar holds its breath. I feel it—eyes locking in, tension coiling, theroom pressing in like a rubber band stretched to breaking. The moment crackles with it.
Everyone’s waiting.
Waiting for me to explode.
Waiting for a scene.
Waiting for a kill.
There’s always someone expecting violence. Always someone disappointed when it doesn’t happen fast enough.
The woman—this wild, recklesshuman—just stands there, breathing like her lungs forgot how halfway through the act. Her pupils are blown wide, but her mouth doesn’t tremble. Her chin doesn’t drop. She’s scared, yes—but she’s not backing down.
Someone behind her whispers, too soft to catch but not soft enough to hide the edge of it.
Another breath—someone else’s, not mine—comes out shaky and sharp.
She’s still watching me.
Still daring me.
And I realize, all at once, she doesn’t expect to win.
She just expects tomatter.
My mouth curves. Slow. Cold.
Not a smile—never that.
But something close to understanding.
I let the moment hang. Let the pressure build just enough that someone in the back shuffles, boots scuffing plasticcrete like they’re getting ready to run. The bartender ducks slightly, hand inching toward something under the counter.
And I just stand there.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
The woman’s breathing louder now, and I can see it—see the crack forming just beneath the surface of her brave. She’swaiting for the explosion too. Probably bracing for it. Maybe she thinks pain is the price of proving she showed up.
I blink once.
Slow.
Then take a step back.
One step.
Nothing more.
It’s enough to saynot tonight.
It’s enough to sayI see you.
