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“Look, Adrian,” Lucas begins with a defeated huff, “I know you’re not a touchy-feely guy or whatever… but you can talk to me, you know? My mom’s a therapist, and she told me it’s normal to grab onto shit like that to fill the gaps. Our friend just disappeared without a fucking trace. And I mean shit, I didn’t even know he was working on a documentary—”

My phone vibrates on the table again, and this time I grab it.

Dante: “You should tell him to stop fidgeting with the lid of the cup like that. It’s distracting.”

Another buzz chimes.

Dante: “Are you cross-examining him? The guy looks nervous.”

My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. I whip my head up. Across the café, his smile deepens.

“You okay?” Lucas asks, finally noticing that I’m distracted.

“I’m fine,” I say, meeting his gaze, scanning his figure and dissecting his posture. Shit, Dante’s right; he is nervous.

Lucas leans forward. “You listening?”

“Yeah.”

I am.

To everything. Because the man who tried to kill me last night is now drinking coffee a few tables away, pretending we’ve never met. Yet watching me like a fucking creep.

Lucas rambles on some empathetic bullshit about understanding me and how I feel. Yet I hardly think he knows I’m boiling inside. And hardly realizes that half of the time I’m not even looking at him.

Dante leans back in his chair, cap pulled low enough to shadow his eyes, but not enough to hide the fact that they’re fixed on me. Every now and then he lifts his cup, takes a slow sip, like he has all the time in the world.

My phone vibrates in my hand again, and I can’t stop the urge to look.

Dante: “You grind your teeth when you’re irritated.”

Dante: “It’s cute.”

My brow twitches before I can stop it.

“Did Xavier ever mention anything about Phantom Productions?” I cut in, sharper than intended, consciously still holding my phone. I came here with a goal, and I intend to reach it.

Lucas blinks. “Phantom Productions?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really. I mean, he said big event companies hide shit all the time. What are you getting at?”

My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it, sliding it into my hoodie’s pocket. “Did he ever mention Phantom Productions specifically?” I add.

“Dude, I—no, he didn’t,” Lucas replies as utter confusion rides the wavelengths of his tone. “What is this about?”

My eyes narrow—internally, that is—trying to catch any signs of dishonesty. Instead, I catch a glimpse of Dante moving in the corner of my eyes, and I shift my attention immediately. He’s only stretching his arms above his head as if growing bored with stalking me, and I’d hope fucking so. He should just leave already.

Lucas notices this time. “Dude, are you waiting on someone?”

“No,” I claim, but he’s already shifting in his seat, looking over his shoulder, and thank fuck he doesn’t recognize him. He searches the room before turning back in his seat, asking, “Are you sure you’re ok? You’ve been acting weird since last night.”

I don’t answer, and at that exact moment Emily appears at the table, smile bright with a tray tucked under her arm.

“Everything still good?” she asks delightful.

“Yes,” I say, throwing back the last sip of my coffee like it’s a shot of vodka.