The dawn encounter with Ethan Thorne replayed in Alex's mind like a surreal dream. The exhaustion in Ethan's eyes, the unexpected question about the center, the almost… contemplation… when Alex spoke of hope. It didn't make sense. It contradicted everything – the debt, the banishment of Marco, the glacier of indifference.
He met Marco after their respective shifts at a greasy spoon diner near the Harbor Lights site. Marco looked exhausted, dust and grime etched into the lines of his face, his knuckles raw. Harbor Lights labor was brutal.
"Anything?" Marco asked immediately, shoveling scrambled eggs. "Did the Ice Prince make another midnight appearance? Gloat about separating us?"
Alex stirred his lukewarm coffee. "Not gloating. He… asked about the center."
Marco froze, fork halfway to his mouth. "He what?"
"He asked why," Alex said, keeping his voice low. "Why I fought for it. Why the roof mattered. Why Sofia's painting… mattered." He recounted the brief, bizarre conversation, Ethan's perplexed repetition of "hope," the strange neutrality in the dawn light.
Marco listened, his expression hardening with each word. When Alex finished, Marco slammed his fork down, making the plates rattle. "Are you kidding me, Al? After everything? The debt? Getting me shipped off to this hellhole? He asks why? And you actually answered him? Like he gives a damn!"
"He seemed…" Alex struggled for the word, "…curious. Not cruel. Just… like he genuinely didn't get it."
"Of course he doesn't get it!" Marco hissed, leaning forward. "He lives in a fucking gold-plated bubble! He crushes hope for breakfast! Don't you see? This is a game to him! He isolated me, now he's poking at you, seeing what makes you tick. Trying to understand the bug before he squashes it flatter! He's manipulating you!"
Alex flinched. Marco's anger was a familiar shield, but this felt different. Sharper. More personal. "He cleared our names, Marco," Alex countered weakly. "Against Hank."
"Only because Hank was a liability! A loose cannon who could have caused more trouble!" Marco argued, his eyes blazing. "He didn't do it for us. He did it for himself. For his precious efficiency! And now he's toying with you. Don't fall for it, Al. Please." The raw plea in Marco's voice cut through the anger. "He's poison. Everything he touches gets ruined. Don't let him touch you."
Alex saw the fear beneath the fury. Fear for him. Fear of Ethan Thorne's influence. Fear of losing him. The unspoken tension between them crackled – Marco's love, his protectiveness, warring with Alex's bewildering mix of resentment and reluctant curiosity about the man who held his debt.
"I'm not falling for anything, Marco," Alex said, reaching across the table to cover Marco's raw knuckles with his hand. "I hate him. I hate this debt. I hate that you're stuck in that hellhole because of me." He squeezed gently. "But… he asked. And I told him the truth. About the center. About Sofia. Because maybe, just maybe, if he hears it… even if he doesn't understand it… it might make a difference. For Ms. Flores. For the roof."
Marco looked down at Alex's hand on his, his jaw working. He didn't pull away, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders. "Hope," he muttered, echoing Ethan's word with bitter sarcasm. "Yeah. Keep hoping, Al. Just… be careful who you share it with." He turned his hand, intertwining his fingers with Alex's for a brief, fierce moment before letting go. The gesture felt like a claim and a warning. "I gotta get some sleep. Another thrilling night of hauling rebar awaits." He stood, tossing some cash on the table. "Stay away from him, Alex. For me."
Alex watched him go, the warmth of Marco's hand lingering, the chill of his warning settling deep. Hope felt dangerous. Curiosity felt treacherous. And the fissure in the glacier seemed less like an opportunity and more like a crevasse waiting to swallow him whole.
(End of Chapter 20)