Something softened in her expression. "It's going to be fine.”
He nodded. He didn't believe it, but he nodded.
"Text me if you need an out," she said. "I'll call with a fake emergency. Burst pipe. Sick cat. Anything you want."
"We don't have a cat."
"I'll acquire one."
He almost laughed. The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment the tightness in his chest loosened just a fraction. She'd always been able to do that, even when they were kids; find the small crack in his armor and slip a little light through.
"Thanks," he said.
She held his gaze a beat longer. "You're going to be fine," she said again, and this time it sounded less like reassurance and more like a fact. "Whatever happens."
He didn't ask what she meant bywhatever happens.He didn't want to hear her saywhatever happens with your boss who you clearly have feelings forout loud, because then it would become real, and if it became real he'd have to do something about it, and he had no idea what that something would be.
He pulled his jacket straight one last time. Headed for the door.
"Adriel."
He turned.
She was watching him with that. "You look good. I mean it."
He stood there a moment, hand on the door, something warm and painful pressing against the inside of his ribs. Then he nodded, pulled it open, and stepped into the corridor.
The door clicked shut behind him.
∞∞∞
The wine bar was warm and intimate; low lighting that softened every edge, exposed brick soaking up the amber glow, the hum of conversation already underway when Adriel pushed through the door.
He'd timed it perfectly. Arrived a few minutes after the stated time, calculated specifically to avoid being the first person standing alone in an empty room. It had worked, in the technical sense. The room was not empty. People were scattered around the long tables near the back, clusters of conversation spread throughout.
Now he just had to figure out where to put himself.
He scanned for familiar faces. Found Miriam near the bar, talking to someone from press. Paul at the far end of the main table, laughing at something the author was saying. A few others from the floor scattered in between, their faces familiar if not quite known.
He could work with that. He could find an edge, a spot on the periphery.
He migrated toward the nearest group, a loose cluster of people from the floor below. Grabbed a glass of wine from the bar on his way. Took a position at the edge of their conversation; close enough to appear included, far enough to avoid having to contribute. Held his wine in both hands and tried to look like someone who was comfortable.
He didn't feel comfortable. He felt visible. Like every person in the room could see the forty minutes he'd spent in front of his wardrobe, the spiral he'd talked himself down from, the desperate hope he was still trying to pretend wasn't there.
He found Landen almost immediately.
His eyes had developed the infuriating habit of finding Landen in any room before Adriel could stop it, before he could remind himself not to look, not to hope, not to do this to himself again.
He was across the room. Mid-conversation with someone Adriel didn't recognize, an older man in a well-cut suit. Landen's jacket was dark, his tie absent, collar open at the throat in a way that was somehow more unsettling than the full office armor. Head tilted slightly, the way it did when he was listening properly. One hand in his pocket. The other held a glass of something dark, loosely, like he'd forgotten it was there.
He looked relaxed. Shoulders easy, expression open, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Adriel looked away.
His heart was doing something complicated, something that felt like a warning and a longing all at once. He stared at the winein his hands, the deep red of it, the way the glass caught the low light. Counted his breaths.One. Two. Three.
He looked back.
