Pretty sure this is how every Final Destination movie starts.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
He presses the emergency call button like it’s just another Tuesday. Calm. Unbothered. Probably immune to panic. Meanwhile, my heart is attempting its own jailbreak.
“Yeah, this is Nathan Reign. The elevator is stalled.”
Silence stretches between us, not cold this time, just… tight.
Nathan’s gaze flicks over to me, then drops to my sweater. “You like horses?”
I blink, thrown. Of all the questions in the world.
“What?” I look down at the little embroidered horse trotting across my chest. “Oh. Yeah. I mean… yes. I used to.”
His brow lifts a little. “Used to?”
“Yeah.” I chew my lip. Talking is better than imagining plummeting to my death. “My grandparents had a small farm growing up. Horses, chickens, and one goat with anger issues. But I loved the horses. I was around them all the time.”
He studies me like he’s trying to picture it, me, tiny, probably covered in hay and questionable decisions.
I shake my head. “They lost the farm when I was a kid. Had to sell everything. Haven’t ridden or even been around one in years.” A shuddering breath escapes me before I can stop it. “I miss it.”
Nathan nods once, slowly. “Makes sense.”
Something softens in his expression, something subtle and warm, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing in a metal box suspended by cables.
The speaker crackles overhead. “Maintenance is working on it.”
Nathan leans back against the wall, arms crossing casually. The Yorkie rests in his arms, steadily regarding us like a tiny, furry witness.
And for the first time since stepping into this elevator…
…I don’t completely hate being stuck here.
Moments later, the elevator jolts, then finally groans back to life, inching toward my floor.
When the doors open, Nathan shifts slightly to the side, one arm still securely around the Yorkie, giving me a small nod toward the hallway, a quiet, unmistakableafter yougesture.
I step out first, my legs still a little unsteady. The air in the hallway feels cooler, less claustrophobic, and I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath the entire ride.
Nathan follows a second later, the Yorkie peeking over his arm like he’s supervising.
We turn in opposite directions, me toward my apartment, him toward Glynys’s.
“Have a good evening,” I manage, still recovering from the adrenaline.
He glances back, eyes steady, voice low and polite. “You too.”
I stumble into my apartment, slam the door, and lean back against it, panting.
The top bolt sticks. Again.
I throw my full weight into it until it locks with athunk.
Another thing for the Sup.
I mentally add it to the ever-growing list of things to fix.
