The night was the kind I preferred — still, weighted, and full of its own quiet power.
I sat in the lounge, half-turned toward the glass doors that opened onto the courtyard. The fire outside was alive, feeding hungrily on the stacked wood. Each flicker sent golden light spilling across the marble floor, climbing the walls in restless waves.
The stem of my wine glass rested loosely between my fingers. The wine was dark, almost black in this light, and its reflection rippled with every shift of the flames. I liked nights like this. No noise, no interruptions, just the burn of the fire and the slow, measured taste of something old and expensive.
The doorbell cut through it.
It was a low chime, polite but insistent. I didn't move immediately. If someone had come this far, they could stand at the door a little longer. The chime came again. I rose at last, setting my glass down on the table, and crossed the room with unhurried steps.
When I opened the door, Lateef was leaning one shoulder against the frame, a smirk already in place.
"You're slower than I remember," he said as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
"You remember wrong," I replied, shutting the door.
He moved straight to the armchair nearest the fire, settling in like he'd been living here for weeks. "You've been hiding yourself again," he said, tilting his head toward me. "It's not healthy."
"I'm fine."
Lateef didn't press. He rarely did. Instead, he started talking — about his latest ventures, a card game in the city that ended with him walking away richer and someone else walking away limping. About a trip two towns over where he'd met a contact who owed him favors. His words came easy, smooth and unbroken, like he was narrating his own legend. I let him talk.
I'd learned long ago that Lateef liked an audience. I could give him that.
The doorbell rang again.
Lateef's voice paused mid-sentence, his brow lifting. "You expecting someone?"
"No." I crossed the room and opened the door.
Zaria stood there, framed by the cool night air. Her eyes caught the light, sharp and deliberate, and her lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. Beside her, Viola moved with a slower grace, her expression unreadable under the fall of her hair.
Before I could greet them, Lateef was at my shoulder. The moment his gaze landed on Viola, something in him shifted — not loudly, but enough for me to notice. He stepped forward without hesitation, reaching for her hands.
"Careful," he said, his voice dropping lower than usual. "You look like the night tried to keep you."
He guided her inside, his hand at her elbow as though she might stumble without it.
Zaria stepped in after them, her eyes never leaving me. She smiled again — small, contained, and not entirely innocent.
I leaned down slightly, my voice for her alone. "Can I know what is happening," I asked, "or what has happened?"
Her answer was a pause, nothing more.
My attention shifted to Lateef. He was still holding Viola's hand, speaking to her in low tones, his posture angled entirely toward her. I walked toward him, the sound of my steps breaking their little bubble.
"What have you been up to?" I asked him.
He looked up, his expression quick to smooth. "Keeping busy," he said. "You know how it is."
I didn't respond.
Dinner was served shortly after. A spread of roasted meat, vegetables brushed with oil and herbs, fresh bread, and a decanter of deep red wine. The firelight from the courtyard spilled into the dining room, mingling with the warm glow of the overhead chandelier.
Lateef and Viola sat beside each other; Zaria took the seat opposite me.
The conversation was uneven, with Lateef carrying most of it. He told another of his stories, and Viola laughed softly at the right moments. Zaria spoke only when prompted, her gaze flicking to me often, like she was cataloging something.
I had just taken another sip of wine when Viola reached for the bottle. "Let me," she said, already tipping it toward my glass. She was talking to Lateef as she poured, not looking closely — or maybe pretending not to.
The bottle tilted too far.
A sudden splash of warmth spread across my shirt, the scent of wine rising instantly between us.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," she said quickly, her eyes widening. She set the bottle down and half-rose from her seat. "That was— I didn't—"
"It's fine," I said, already pushing my chair back. "I'll clean it."
I left the table, unhurried, and made my way down the corridor toward the washroom. The sound of footsteps followed after a pause.
"Baal, wait," Viola's voice came, soft but urgent.
She stepped inside behind me, closing the door with a quiet click. I had already removed my jacket and placed it neatly aside, unbuttoning the top of my shirt.
"Let me help," she said, taking a folded towel from the counter before I could refuse. She pressed it lightly to my chest, dabbing at the stain. Her touch lingered just long enough to make the air shift.
"You don't have to," I said evenly.
"Maybe," she replied, her voice low, "but it's polite to make sure."
Her hand moved slowly, deliberately. The fabric of the towel brushed the skin at my collarbone when her fingers slipped slightly. Not enough to be called a grab, not enough to demand an immediate reaction — but enough to register.
I watched her. Her eyes flicked to mine briefly, then back to the stain. There was a faint smile at the edge of her lips, though her expression stayed soft, almost innocent.
"Really," I said, "it's nothing."
She gave a small shrug but didn't step back until the stain was almost gone. Then she handed me the towel, her fingers brushing mine for just a moment.
"Better," she said, her smile lingering as she turned to leave.
When the door closed behind her, I stayed there a while longer, watching my reflection in the mirror. I didn't know if that had been an accident… or something else entirely.
When I returned to the dining room, the atmosphere was unchanged on the surface — the food still steaming, the wine glasses still half-full — but I could feel the subtle difference.
Zaria's gaze met mine, sharp and unblinking. Lateef poured himself another glass, his hand steady, his eyes darting briefly toward Viola. She was laughing at something he said, but the glance she threw me was brief and unreadable.
I took my seat again, the firelight from outside stretching long shadows across the walls. I picked up my wine, tasted it, and let the silence between us stretch just enough to make the air heavier.
The wine still tasted rich, but now it carried an edge I couldn't quite name. And I wasn't sure I wanted to.
The night had cooled by the time we stepped outside. The courtyard fire had burned down to embers, its glow faint against the darkness. The car waited at the end of the drive, engine low and steady.
Lateef slid into the back seat with Viola, their voices already low in conversation. Zaria moved to the front without me having to tell her, settling into the leather seat beside me.
The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the road the only sound. In the rearview mirror, I caught glimpses of Lateef leaning toward Viola, his words too soft to catch, her expression a mix of amusement and something else.
We dropped Viola first. She stepped out with a small wave, her smile directed at both of us but lingering a moment longer on me. Lateef followed her out, exchanging a quick word before climbing back in.
The car moved on, the streets thinning as we reached Zaria's neighborhood.
When we pulled up in front of her place, she reached for the door handle, but I spoke before she could open it.
"Zaria."
She turned to me, brows lifting in quiet question.
"There's something I should tell you," I began, then paused. The words I'd meant to say — about the wine, the bathroom, the touch that had lingered too long — felt heavier now, more uncertain in the stillness between us.
She waited.
"It's nothing," I said finally, though the thought tasted bitter. "Maybe I'm imagining things."
Her eyes searched mine for a moment, but she didn't press. She only gave a small, almost knowing smile before stepping out of the car.
I watched her walk to her door, the curve of her figure fading into the shadows. She glanced back once, just before she went inside, and for a moment I wondered if she already knew what I'd almost said.
The door closed. The car eased away.
Lateef said something beside me, he asked me what happened? And what I wanted to tell Zaria after I said nothing he just smiled and leaned back like he knew what had happened
The night stretched ahead, quiet again — but not the same kind of quiet I'd had before.