Page 85 of Carved in Ruin

I raise an eyebrow. “Your apartment?”

“It’s been a little… moldy.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s nothing new. I’ve been dealing with it since I moved in, but it’s been worse lately. Can’t even sleep without waking up coughing. But hey, at least the rent’s insane, right?”

God, my chest tightens. I think about the ridiculous penthouse Rafael set me up in, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, gleaming marble, and walk-in closets I’ll never fill. It’s so big I can hear my own voice echo when I talk too loud. I hate it. But knowing Sam is stuck in a glorified box that’s literally making him sick? It’s making me realize how truly privileged I am.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

Mary hums without looking up from the instrument she’s still fine-tuning. “Check my tote bag,” she tells Sam. “I think I have some cough drops in there.”

Sam blinks, then smirks. “What don’t you have in that bag, Mary? Spare organs? A small child?”

“Keep making jokes and see if I help you again,” she teases.

I let out a soft laugh as Sam rummages through Mary’s tote, pulling out a crumpled pack of cough drops like he’s just unearthed treasure. “Ah, lifesaver. Thanks, babe,” he says, popping one into his mouth.

“Don’t call me babe,” Mary replies.

“Fine,” Sam drawls. “Thanks, goddess of all things organized and prepared. How’s that?”

“Better,” she deadpans.

Sam turns to me, shrugging. “See? She loves me.”

“She tolerates you,” I tease, but my smile fades quickly. “Seriously, though, Sam. Mold is no joke. Have you told your landlord?”

He scoffs. “Oh, sure. And I’m sure he’s just dying to help the gay guy who keeps asking for repairs.”

My stomach twists. It’s not like I haven’t heard Sam joke about this stuff before, but every time he says it, it makes me more concerned.

Mary finally looks up, her brows furrowing. “He can’t ignore you if it’s a health issue.”

“He’s been ignoring me since I moved in,” Sam says, leaning against the counter. “Anyway, I’m fine. Don’t go getting all worried about me. I’ve survived worse.”

“Sam—”

“Really,” he cuts me off, flashing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Besides, I’ve got my priorities straight. Like lunch. Speaking of which, Greek food still good with you guys?”

Mary shakes her head but doesn’t argue. I bite my lip, nodding reluctantly. “Yeah, okay.”

He claps his hands together. “Great. I’ll book us a table for after class. My treat. You two are officially my favorite people.”

The sound of the equipment calibrating fills the silence as we all go back to work, and I fumble with my notes, trying to shake the heavy feeling in my chest.

Sam deserves better than that apartment. Better than a landlord who doesn’t care. And a better friend than me, stuck in my shiny new life and too scared to offer more than a damn apology.

Thirty Six

The Devil Repents

Rafael

The scent of clay fills the room, damp and earthy, as I run my fingers over the curve of her waist. My Mila. Mykroshka. I sculpt her belly button, my fingers trembling with the need to get it perfect. She would notice any imperfection.

It’s my fifth sculpture this week. Before, I used to stop at her face, her angelic, cruel face. But now that I’ve memorized the soft dip of her waist, the swell of her thighs, the delicate arch of her spine… How could I stop there?

The door creaks open and I freeze.

Every nerve in my body goes taut. No one sees her like this but me. No one touches this version of her but me.

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