The lingering scent of buttery popcorn and cheap, fake blood still hung faintly in the air as I sent off the last of my friends. Three back-to-back horror movies had left my nerves frayed and my body completely exhausted, but my mind was spinning with fictional violence. The thought of sinking into the deep jets of the jacuzzi was tempting, a promise of instant relaxation, but even the effort required to fill it felt monumental. I settled for a compromise, stepping into the shower and letting the hot spray run for nearly thirty minutes until my muscles finally began to slacken.
I changed into my coziest flannel pajamas, the kind that were soft enough to be socially unacceptable outside the house, and crawled gratefully into bed. The sheets felt heavenly. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen as the bright light hit my eyes. It was 8:37 PM.
A single message notification blinked at me. It was from Evander. I'd saved him in my contacts as Bishopโa name that, to me, signified protection and strength, as he was always the immovable force standing between me and trouble.
I opened the text. The message had been sent 37 minutes ago, placing its timestamp exactly at 8:00 PM.
๐๐ฒ๐ผ๐ฑ๐ธ๐น: ๐ถ๐ฎ ๐ช๐ท๐ญ ๐๐ช๐ป๐ฌ๐พ๐ผ ๐ช๐ป๐ฎ ๐ฌ๐ธ๐ถ๐ฒ๐ท๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฒ๐ด๐ฎ ๐ฒ๐ฝ ๐ธ๐ป ๐ท๐ธ๐ฝ ๐๐ฎ ๐๐ฒ๐ต๐ต ๐ช๐ป๐ป๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฎ ๐ฒ๐ท 35 ๐ถ๐ฒ๐ท๐พ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ผ ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฝ ๐ป๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ ๐ช๐ท๐ญ ๐๐ฎ ๐๐ฒ๐ต๐ต ๐ฝ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐๐ฑ๐ ๐๐ธ๐พ ๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ฎ๐ท'๐ฝ ๐ช๐ท๐ผ๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ฒ๐ท๐ฐ ๐ถ๐ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ผ.
My eyes flew back to the clock. Evander had promised they would arrive in 35 minutes, which meant they were due at 8:35 PM. It was now 8:37 PM. They weren't just here; they were two minutes late and already impatient.
My hair was damp, stuck to my neck, and I was wearing pajamas. I was, in short, a complete disaster. I didn't even have time to tame my appearance when a sharp, authoritative knock sounded on the main door downstairs.
Knock. Knock.
It was immediately followed by a shout, Evander's voice carrying easily through the thick wood. "Open it! I'm getting eager to break this door."
I knew he wasn't kidding. Evander had a history of making good on destructive threats when he was denied, and I certainly didn't want to explain a splintered antique door to my landlord. With a heavy sigh, I rushed downstairs, pulling my robe tighter around my waist just as the third, impatient knock hammered against the wood.
I threw open the door. Evander and Marcus were standing there, looking annoyingly sharp and composed. Without a greeting, without a chance for me to speak, they simply walked past me and into the living room as if they owned the place.
Evander dropped onto my expensive leather sofa, leaning back with a proprietary air. "Sis, would you like to have a seat?" he asked, completely deadpan.
"So now you are offering me to sit on my own freaking house!" I shot back, indignation boiling over. But I was tired, and arguing standing up was too much effort. I sat down beside him, crossing my arms.
"Well," Evander continued, completely unbothered by my sarcasm, "Mary said that you should not live alone, so you are moving into my house."
My jaw dropped. "How will I live with you?" I demanded, drawing an exaggerated question mark in the air between us. Evander's house was a fortress, and his rules were notoriously strict.
"You will have your own rules, and I will follow," he replied casually, as if asking me to pass the remote. That answer was completely uncharacteristic, and alarm bells started ringing in my head.
"What about this house? It will look haunted if no one lives in it?" I asked, genuinely concerned for the property.
Evander squinted at me. "You care for this house more than you care for me," he muttered, though I detected a flicker of amusement. "I will look for someone to rent it."
"Okay. I'll think about it. Now, you may leave," I said, rising and pointing dramatically toward the main exit.
Evander stood up, but Marcus remained seated for a beat longer. He looked me up and down slowly, his gaze clinical and dismissive, before finally rising. He strolled toward me, his movements fluid and deliberate. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back, placed his hands into his pockets, and bent down until his face was inches from mine.
"Were you thinking that I was going to say sorry?" he asked, his voice a low, rough murmur that sent a totally unwelcome jolt down my spine. "Well then, your imagination sucks."
He gave a small, sarcastic smirk and strode rustically past me, following Evander out the door.
I stood in the sudden silence, reeling. What the heck was that? Since when did Evander, the ultimate boss, allow someone else to boss him around? The whole visit, the immediate departure, and especially Marcus's strange, antagonistic power playโฆ it all looked incredibly fishy.