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So I do.

It goes that way for hours.Room to room.Surface to surface.No questions.No future.Just friction and a growing sense that something’s about to snap.

At one point she says, “You gonna tell me what happens next?”

I’m on my back.She’s straddling me.Her tone is casual, but her eyes aren’t.She already knows.

My hands are on her hips, but my mind’s already pulling away.Running numbers.Calculating exit wounds.

I don’t answer.Not at first.

Then, “You go home.”

“Just like that?”

I nod.

She leans forward, hair falling around her face like a curtain.“And what do I tell them?”

There it is.The part I didn’t plan for.The part where she steps back into her life carrying mine like a parasite.

I think about it.The cops.Her family.Her friends.The headlines.All the lives she’ll be stepping back into like nothing happened.She’ll need a story.Something believable.

“I’ll handle it,” I say.

“You can’t.Not all of it.”

She’s not being cruel.Just honest.

I know that.Have known it.But the truth doesn’t make a sound.It just sits there, heavy as wet clothes.

At some point, I get up.Turn on the fan.Bring her water.Stupid, normal things.

She watches me from the bed, hair a mess, eyes a little too clear.She’s waiting for a sign.Some kind of flicker that means stay.But I’m used to cutting lines, not holding them.

I notice the way her face goes still.Like she already knows this is the last time, she’s just waiting for me to tell the truth.

I don’t.

Instead, I sit up.Cup her face.Kiss her like it’s a eulogy.And when she pulls back, she says: “You’re hoping I’ll leave first, aren’t you?”

She looks at me like she’s done waiting for men to mean well.For a second, I wonder what she’d do if I asked her to stay.Then I remember who I am.

Her breath catches.“You want me to run.”

I don’t deny it.

I don’t have to.

40

Marlowe

It started like nothing.

Just a quiet room, a plate of food we didn’t touch, and the sound of a knife scraping an apple.Vance was cutting it, for no real reason—maybe just to keep his hands busy.I was still in bed, the sheet clutched under my arms.Not sleeping.Not speaking.Just…watching.

Then the door blew open.