Page 56 of Ex Somnis

And I had no idea.

Bzzzt.

Lennon’s phone lights up again.

I look over at Ridge and Paul, who have somehow transitioned from regular arguing into a new, significantly more intense argument about something called 5D that I have not once understood since arriving here.

They are, objectively, about thirty seconds away from physically fighting.

In a room that is technically both of theirs.

Apparently, Ridge moved in today.

Apparently, there are decades of emotional damage happening under the surface of every conversation they have.

Apparently, I have walked directly into the most complicated friendship in recorded human history.

Honestly, I’m starting to think Lennon has a type.

And it seems Ridge is as messy as her, because how has his stuff already exploded on everything in this room when he just moved in?

My gaze goes to the nightstand, where, besides a glass of water and Lennon’s phone on the charger, is what looks like a collection of small pebbles.

Fifty, maybe. Arranged in no particular order. Just there.

I decide not to ask. Jasper once spent an hour explaining to me why a rock he found “felt sad.” Ever since then, I’ve learned not to question mysterious pebble collections.

Lennon’s phone buzzes again, and Ridge stops mid-argument, then points at it. “Okay,” he says. “Who the fuck keeps blowing up Sleeping Beauty’s phone?”

I stand before either of them can move and grab the phone off the charger.

“Spencer apparently still didn’t get the hint,” I mutter when I see his name on the screen.

“Spencer?” Ridge’s hands clamp around his chair’s push rims, and he rolls toward me fast enough that I instinctively shift back before he snatches the phone clean out of my hand. “Who the fuck is Spencer?”

I frown at him, then at Paul, who looks equally confused behind his glasses.

They don’t know about him?

Somehow, it feels good to be the only person in this room who does.

“Her ex,” I say.

Ridge and Paul exchange a look, something loaded passing silently between them.

“Wanna share with the class?” Ridge asks flatly.

I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know if Lennon wanted you to know that if she never told you.”

Ridge’s jaw flexes hard enough to be visible before he taps the messages open anyway.

“Not even a passcode?” he mutters while scrolling. “Naïve little thing.”

There’s something in his voice that isn’t quite a smile but almost gets there, the corner of his mouth softening for half a second before he schools it away again.

“Ridge,” Paul warns. “That’s private, and not ours to go through.”

“I’m just checking what he wants.”