We dig in with our fingers, sugar sticking to smoke-sticky lips.
"Best part of the job so far," he says around a mouthful.
I force a smile.
My phone buzzes in the distance.
"You gonna get that?" he asks.
I know exactly who it is, and I can't face her yet.
"Nah," I say, waving it off. "Probably just spam."
He gives a small nod and goes back to eating, like he believes me without needing more. Diego always has. It's part of what makes this harder. He trusts me too much, and I keep handing him half-truths and bad plans like they're the same thing as honesty.
The phone buzzes again.
I don't move.
The room feels warmer than it should, thick with weed smoke, sugar, and the kind of silence that only shows up when two people know too much about each other. Diego leans back in his chair and smirks at me over the edge of his brownie.
"What?" I ask.
He shrugs. "You got that face."
"What face?"
"The one you get when you're thinking too hard."
I huff out a quiet laugh and look away. "Shut up."
"Nah, seriously." He points at me with the half-eaten brownie cake. "You used to be able to hide it better."
That lands harder than it should.
Used to. Back when things were simple enough to joke about. Back when my biggest problems were getting caught sneaking out, or whether Mom was going to let us stay up late during sleepovers. Or if Aunt Val was going to make too much food and guilt us all into eating every last bite. Back when Dad still had a real laugh that filled the room, and my cousin and I still believed we could grow up into something clean.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling.
"Remember when we used to think being adults would mean we'd finally know what the hell we were doing?" I ask.
Diego laughs through his nose. "Yeah. We were idiots."
"We still are."
"Yeah," he says, softer now. "Just older idiots."
That pulls a real smile out of me. Small, but real.
For a minute, we just sit there and let the smoke drift between us. Let the memories fill the room instead of the weight of everything waiting outside it. Old summers. Dumber times. Nights in the street with nothing but our bikes, our voices, and the belief that the world was bigger than the block we were standing on.
My phone buzzes again. This time, I still don't reach for it.
Diego notices, but he doesn't push. He just lowers his gaze back to his plate and keeps eating, letting me have the silence.
My attention's glued to the TV, some late-night rerun I'm not even watching, when a loud knock slams through the front door. Sharp. Angry. No hesitation.
Sleep's been a joke anyway. I haven't closed my eyes since I set this whole thing in motion. Knowing what I've unleashed into the world keeps my nerves electric, every shadow feeling like trouble waiting to land.
