I finished my beer, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed upstairs to my own room. Troy's door was closed, no light showing underneath. Either he'd crashed the second he hit themattress, or he was lying there in the dark trying to figure out how badly he'd miscalculated by coming back here.
I knew that feeling.
I'd spent six years building a life that didn't include him. Telling myself the distance was fine, that letting him go had been the right call, that I was handling it. And it had taken less than an hour for all of that to fall apart at the seams.
He was back. And I was already in trouble.
FOUR
GHOSTS DON'T STAY BURIED
TROY
Declan had disappeared to the gym around noon and I was left alone with memories I didn't want to sit with. Every room carried versions of myself I'd tried to leave behind. The kitchen where I'd learned to make coffee too early because insomnia had been a constant companion after Mom died. The living room where I'd spent years pretending not to notice how Declan filled a space. The hallway where I could still see the marks on the doorframe tracking my height through the years, evidence that I'd been here long enough to grow up.
Chicago still owned pieces of me I'd thought I'd taken with me when I left.
So I grabbed my jacket and walked out into the cold afternoon with no destination in mind, just the need to move.
Snow had started falling while I'd been inside, wet and heavy, the kind that soaked through fabric instead of dusting off clean. The city looked different than I remembered, wearing the same bones under different skin. New buildings where old ones used to be. Familiar streets that felt foreign anyway. I walked for an hour, hands shoved in my pockets, breath fogging in the air, snow collecting in my hair and on my shoulders while I tried to outpace thoughts that followed me anyway.
The cold felt hostile in a way I didn't remember. London got cold but this was different. This was the cold I'd grown up in, the one that knew how to get under your skin and stay there. The one that reminded you winter here didn't ask permission before settling in for months.
I passed the corner store where I used to buy candy with change I'd stolen from Declan's jacket. Passed the park where I'd gotten into my first real fight at fourteen, came home with a black eye and a bloody nose, and Declan had just looked at me and asked if I'd won. Passed the street where Mom's car had been parked the last time I saw her alive.
Every block was a landmine.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out expecting Luka or one of the Sentinels checking in.
It was Rafael.
Rafael
Heard you were back in town. Drink?
I stopped walking. Stared at the message for a long moment.
Rafael Varela. I hadn't thought about him in months, maybe longer. We'd crossed paths years ago through Luka's world.
I'd liked him well enough. He'd never treated me like just another soldier. Had talked to me like an actual person instead of a weapon Luka kept sharpened.
But the timing sat wrong in my chest. I'd been back less than twenty-four hours and hadn't told anyone except the Sentinels I was in Chicago. Rafael shouldn't have known I was here unless someone had told him, and the list of people who knew was short enough that I could count them on one hand.
Troy
Where?
Rafael
Vanguard. Near the docks. You know it?
I did. Decent bar, not too loud, the place where you could actually have a conversation without shouting. I'd been there a few times with Luka back when I was still learning how his world worked.
Rafael would remember that. Would remember I knew the place.
Troy
Yeah. Give me thirty.
