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She leans in so close to me that our noses brush against each other. I realise how bent over I am, and that she must be standing on her tiptoes, considering our height difference.

‘You’re nothing,’ she says.

I feel her before I see her. There’s a shift in the air. Isla’s gaze moves past me, for just half a second, but long enough to tell me someone else is there. I turn to find Bryn hovering by the door. My stomach drops.

She stands a few metres away, frozen in place. Her eyes are wide, her face pale under the dim backyard light. She’s looking at us: at how close Isla is to me, at the way my body’s angled toward her, at the space that must look charged and intimate from the outside.

Fuck.

‘Bryn,’ I say quietly, stepping back instinctively, but it’s already too late. The damage is done. I can see it in her eyes, the way they gather moisture. Her face contorts, and it’s like watching something fragile splinter right before me. The panic that wells up inside me is immediate.

I glance at Isla, a smug smile sliding onto her face. She looks at Bryn, then back at me, acting guilty, like she has been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Anger flares through me over her audacity.

‘Relax,’ Isla says lightly, her voice dripping with false innocence. ‘We were just talking.’

Bryn swallows. ‘It didn’t look like just talking.’

My heart slams against my ribs. ‘It wasn’t what you think—’

‘It’s fine,’ Bryn cuts me off abruptly, forcing a smile. It looks out of place. ‘I’m going to bed.’

Turning on her heels, she strides back into the house, disappearing just as quickly as she arrived.

‘Bryn,’ I cry quietly, panic creeping into my voice. I take a step after her, but Isla’s hand shoots out, her fingers brushing my wrist.

‘Since you and Bryn are probably going to call it quits, you know which room is mine.’

I yank my hand back, fury burning through me in a violent tide.

‘Stay away from me.’

She only smiles. I glare back at her, furious she’s still playing this game when she knows what I know. I’ve offered her genuine help, but she can’t even face the reality of what’s happened. She pushes people’s buttons to force them away, so they can’t get close enough to see the truth. Underneath my frustration, there’s something worse: recognition. I know what it looks like when someone is terrified of being seen too clearly.

Turning my back on Isla, I rush inside. My heart slams painfully fast. I feel like everything has come crashing down around me. Like I’ve broken something delicate, and if I don’t fix it fast, it’s going to cost me everything.

28

BRYN

Now

The door clicks shut behind us and I pause, taking it all in. Ash’s place is a studio with dark timber floors, charcoal-coloured walls, and dim lighting that casts shadows over everything. There’s next to no clutter. A lounge sits opposite a ginormous TV. A compact kitchen runs along one wall; all his appliances are matte black. It’s dark and minimalistic. It feels very him.

I drift further inside. My gaze skims the dark artwork lining the walls. It’s strikingly beautiful, but completely impersonal. There are no photos, no keepsakes, nothing that hints at a past or a life beyond this room. It’s as if he’s carefully erased any trace of himself.

‘This is where you live,’ I murmur, more to myself than to him. He drops his keys onto the counter. ‘Yeah.’

I run my fingers lightly over the back of the lounge, imagining him here late at night, sketching, writing, or coming home exhausted from shifts at Shadow Land. There’s something intimate about seeing the quiet version of someone, the one no one else gets to witness. I can’t help but think about how many strangers online would love to be in my position right now, alone in his apartment.

‘It’s nice,’ I say, turning slowly, still drinking it in. ‘Very minimalist.’

A corner of his mouth lifts. ‘That’s a polite way of saying empty.’

I smile. ‘I like it.’

My gaze drifts to his bed tucked neatly into the corner, the dark linen pulled tight. A single pillow rests against the headboard. My cheeks warm at the thought of all the nights he’s spent there. A selfish part of me hopes those nights have been spent alone, yearning for me, like I have him.

It’s a studio apartment, so everything is in the one room, minus the bathroom and laundry, which are tucked away behind two large dark saloon doors that remind me of western bars I’ve seen in movies.