Taking the initiative, Grey leans toward the microphone. “Are you going out, Amelia?”
She pauses, her hand on the purse, and a smirk plays across her lips. “Yes,” she answers, her voice light, almost teasing. “I have a date tonight.”
The room tightens around me.
A date?
My heart stutters, a jolt of something cold washing through me.
“What the…” Misha echoes my shock, his voice a mixture of surprise and indignation. “With whom?”
Grey’s jaw clenches, his fingers drumming on the desk. “The fuck I know,” he mutters before speaking into the mic. “A date with whom?” Grey’s voice is sharper than he probably intended.
“Oh, is this a new feature? Are we curious now?” Amelia smirks. “His name is Ivor,” she continues, still smiling. “I see him every few weeks.”
I’m already sifting through her emails and contacts on another screen.
Ivor?
Who is Ivor?
There’s no mention of him in any of her recent communications.
A sinking feeling starts to settle in.
“What a shitty name,” Grey mutters under his breath, earning a chuckle from Misha. Pushing the speaker button again, he asks, “And what are your plans? How long will you be out?”
She laughs, a sound that’s both amused and slightly exasperated. “Wow, Jamie, you’re really channeling Grey tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in two hours or so.”
With that, she slings her purse over her shoulder and heads out, leaving us staring at the now-empty apartment displayed on the screen.
I sit back, the Rubik’s cube forgotten in my hands, the colors as mixed and muddled as my feelings. “Should we…” I start, unsure of what I’m even suggesting.
“Do what you want. I’m going after her,” Grey says, standing and heading out of the room.
I glance at Misha, who’s already looking at me when we both jump up. We shuffle out of the apartment and pile into the elevator, the descent seeming to take much longer than usual. Grey’s determination fills the small space, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the doors as they slowly open to the street level.
Once outside, we spot Amelia a short distance away, her pace steady but unhurried.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I mutter, but my feet follow her path regardless, driven by a mixture of concern and curiosity.
If I see her kiss a guy tonight, I might just die of a broken heart.
“We’re just making sure she’s safe,” Grey insists, his voice low as we trail behind her, keeping a careful distance.
After maybe twenty minutes, the city sounds fade, and we approach Denny Park. It’s quieter here, the rustling leaves and distant traffic blending into a calming soundtrack
We watch as Amelia approaches an old, weathered green piano placed under a canopy of trees. Her movements are graceful, almost reverential, as she sets her purse down on the ground between her feet and flexes her fingers above the ivory. Her respect for the instrument is palpable, even from a distance.
We find cover behind some thick foliage to the right of the piano. From here, we can see her clearly but are well hidden among the shadows.
Misha nudges me gently, a mischievous chuckle escaping him. “Look,” he whispers, nodding toward the piano.
“What?” Grey and I ask simultaneously, peering closer.
Misha points to the faded lettering above the keyboard, barely legible on the weathered green paint. “Mr. Ivor E. Key. The melody of Denny Park.”
A moment of stunned silence follows before I let out a quiet laugh, quickly covering my mouth with my hand.
