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“You started it.”

He pushes away from the shelf.

“Yeah.” His gaze catches mine one last time. “I’m fucking aware.”

I smile despite myself. Maybe three more weeks here won’t be so terrible.

By Wednesday, the shelf is full. So is my week.

Wilder house keeps me late enough that I end up at Midnight Press close to eleven, pink notebook open beside a half-finished iced coffee while Avery counts the register. Espresso and toasted sugar still hang in the air even though the machine has gone quiet.

My phone lights up against the table.

KEN.

Avery glances over.

“Who’s Ken?”

I flip the phone facedown. “Nobody.”

She stops counting. “You’re ignoring Nobody at eleven-thirty at night?”

“He’s my roommate.”

“Your roommate’s name is Ken, I thought it was Bishop?”

“No. Yes.”

Avery stares at me.

“It’s complicated.”

“Obviously.”

The phone buzzes again.

Ken: You alive?

Then:

Ken: Mrs. B texted me because you didn’t answer her.

I groan.

Avery’s eyes brighten. “Okay, spill.”

“He looks like a Ken doll.”

“Your roommate?”

“My brother’s best friend.”

Her brows climb.

“I’ve known him forever.”

“The hot hockey player you live with is your brother’s best friend and you saved him in your phone as Ken?”