Page 88 of Carved in Ruin

“Are you coming?” Sam asks me.

“Maybe…” I hesitate, gnawing on my lower lip.

Mary raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, maybe?”

“I’ve never been to a pub,” I blurt, then immediately regret it.

Sam freezes mid-stretch, and Mary’s jaw literally drops.

“You’veneverbeen to a pub?” Mary finally asks, her voice high-pitched with disbelief.

I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve been busy?”

“Busy doing what?” she fires back.

“Apparently being a saint,” Sam adds, smirking. “But tonight, we’re fixing that.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I try to wave them off, but Mary’s already shaking her head.

“Nope. No excuses. You’re coming with us. End of discussion.”

“We’re not dressed for it,” I point out, gesturing to our lab clothes. Sam’s hoodie is singed at the cuffs, Mary’s jeans have grease stains, and my sweater has a hole in the sleeve from where it got caught on the edge of the cryostat earlier.

Sam shrugs. “We won’t go anywhere fancy.”

Mary grins. “You’ve got to start small anyway. No velvet ropes, no overpriced cocktails. Just a pub where nobody cares what you’re wearing as long as you don’t break anything.”

I am torn between wanting to crawl home and wanting to experience new things.

“Fine,” I say finally. “But if it’s awful, I’m blaming both of you.”

Mary slings her bag over her shoulder with a grin. “Deal.”

Sam throws an arm around my shoulders, already steering me toward the door. “Come on, rookie. You’ve survived the lab. You can survive this.”

We turn off the light as we leave. I can finally take a breath as we walk further and further away from the lab.

The pub is exactly what I expected: grimy, chaotic, and unapologetically loud. I follow Mary and Sam through the throng of people, my senses overloaded by the mix of stale beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. It’s… overwhelming, but not entirely bad.

“Over there!” Mary shouts, pointing to a half-empty booth in the corner.

We squeeze into the booth, and before I can even think, a server appears to take our order.

“Two beers and—” Mary pauses, looking at me. “What do you want, Mila?”

“Uh… I don’t know. What do people drink here?”

Sam grins. “Something that won’t knock you on your ass. How about a gin and tonic?”

I nod. “Sure. That.”

The server leaves. Mary immediately pulls out her phone. “Okay, I have to show you guys this. Look at Biscuit,” she says, shoving the screen toward us.

On it is a fluffy orange cat, mid-yawn, looking entirely unimpressed with life.

“Wow,” I say, genuinely amused. “He looks like he pays taxes and hates every second of it.”

Mary laughs so hard she snorts. “Right? He’s such a grumpy little dude.”

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