Page 85 of Fractured Allegiance
She studies me.
Then moves, fast and intentional, to the side door, pushes it open, steps into the stairwell. I follow without needing to think. We descend one flight. Then two.
When she stops, we’re in a part of the club I’ve never been in; a small, unfinished side hall with walls of exposed brick and a single overhead light flickering with the hum of bad wiring.
She turns again. Faces me now. Nothing between us but the choice of proximity.
“This is the part,” she says, “where one of us should walk away.”
“You want to?”
She shakes her head once. Then pauses.
“You scare me.”
“Good.”
Her head tilts.
“Why good?”
“Because fear is honest.”
I take one step closer.
Then another.
Until we’re toe to toe.
“You think this ends well?” she asks, voice tight.
“No,” I say.
“Then why are you here?”
I reach into my pocket, pull out a pen and a small writing pad, I write out my number fast, tear out the sheet, fold it once and I hand it to her.
She takes it without touching my fingers.
I watch her tuck it into her clutch.
She doesn’t ask if I want hers.
She already knows I’ll get it if and when I need it.
But before I can turn to leave, she stops me with just her voice.
“You’re not his,” she says.
I meet her eyes.
“Neither are you.”
We don’t touch.
We don’t kiss.
We just breathe in the same stale air for another second like it means something.
