“Oh my God, that’s amazing.”
“I know. She’s very excited.”
“I’m calling her as soon as I get home.”
“She’ll like that.”
We talk for a few more minutes, about nothing and everything at the same time, before I tell her I’m almost home and hang up with a promise to call tomorrow. I slide my phone back into my pocket and start walking again, my mind still half on the conversation, half on the quiet of the street around me.
This part of town is calm at night. Not empty, but not crowded either. A few cars pass, headlights sweeping over the pavement, and somewhere in the distance I can hear music from a bar or a house party, the sound carrying just enough to be noticeable without being clear.
I pass the small coffee shop on the corner, its windows dark now, chairs stacked upside down on the tables. The florist next door still has a light on in the back, someone moving around behind the counter. Normal.
Everything feels normal.
And yet, I slow slightly without meaning to. It’s not a sound. Not exactly. More like a shift. The air feels…different.
I glance over my shoulder, just a quick look, expecting to see someone behind me. There’s no one there.Just the empty stretch of sidewalk, the glow of the streetlight, the faint outline of parked cars along the curb.
I let out a small breath, shaking my head at myself as I turn back around.
You’re overthinking.
It’s late. It’s dark. Of course everything feels a little off.
I tuck my hands deeper into my coat pockets and keep walking, my steps steady. Still, I pay a little more attention now. Not in a panicked way. Just…aware.
The way the light hits the ground. The way the shadows stretch across the sidewalk. The sound of my own footsteps.
There’s a car parked a little farther down, engine running. I notice it because the exhaust curls into the cold air, faint but visible under the streetlight. It’s probably nothing. Someone waiting. Someone on their phone. Someone warming up their car.
Normal.
I keep walking. But I don’t look at my phone again. And I don’t quite shake the feeling that something just shifted around me.
Not enough to run.
Not enough to turn back.
Just enough to notice.
Just enough to matter later.
Ambrosia spits me back into the cold with music still crawling under my skin.
Inside, the bass is low and steady, the kind that works its way into the walls and stays there even after the door shuts behind you. Outside, the winter night cuts it clean. The air hits my face hard enough to sharpen everything, and I let the door close at my back while I stand beneath the red wash of the club sign and listen. Not to the music.
Past it.
Street. Engines. Wind catching trash near the curb. A woman laughing somewhere down the block, too loud and already fading. Nothing obvious. That’s usually where trouble starts.
I pull the deposit bag tighter inside my cut, making sure it’s secure. Allison gave me the money with that look in her eye that said she understood enough to be pissed but not enough to push.Smart woman. She knows when to ask and when to let the club handle its shit. Not everybody has that skill. Most people think every silence is an invitation to pry.
It’s not.
Sometimes it’s a warning.
The lot is mostly empty this early, only a handful of cars scattered under the security lights. Chrome shines dull on my bike, frost starting to catch along the seat and handlebars. The glow from Ambrosia turns the pavement red near the door, then fades into the yellow spill of the streetlamps closer to the road.
