For me, it was the hollow ache of knowing I should’ve seen it coming. That deep down, I probably did. I know how these things unravel. How they start with excuses and end in damage.
Of course, I know what stealing feels like. I know the rush of it, the warped logic that tells you it’s survival, not betrayal. But more than that, I know the aftermath. The shame. The part where you can’t look anyone in the eye without wondering what they see when they look back at you.
That doesn’t mean it’s right. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t leave a mark.
But it would be hypocritical to sit here and act like I’m above Gage. Like I haven’t been there myself. Like I don’t know what it’s like to convince yourself you’re justified. To believe no one’s really getting hurt. To think you’re owed something just for surviving the grind.
I strip off my tape, tossing it into the trash, then lean against the wall.
“That really fucking sucks.”
Marcus exhales through his nose. “Yeah. It does.”
“How much did he take?”
“Couple grand,” he says, sounding more disappointed than angry. “Kid was working his way up there, too. I had him on track for more hours. Could’ve taken over some of my morning clients. What a bullshit way to ruin a good thing.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Bullshit.”
He pats my shoulder. “He’s got no one to blame but himself.”
I gather my things, feeling heavy in my own skin. Tired, achy, and hollow in a way that has nothing to do with muscle fatigue.
The walk from Emberline to my apartment is quiet. Slower than usual, my boots scuffing against the pavement as I try to shake the weight off and fail.
Upstairs, I unlock the door, kick off my shoes, and drop my bag just inside. I don’t bother with the lights. The living room is still, faintly lit by the streetlamp outside. I sink onto the couch, muscles tight, mind tighter.
Warren wanted me to check in, so I pull out my phone.
Quinn
just walking up to my apartment now. safe and sound
Warren
thanks for checking in. how was the gym?
Quinn
weird, kind of. Gage got fired
My phone starts ringing, and I answer on the second buzz.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me it didn’t have anything to do with you. He didn’t put his hands on you or—”
“Calm down, Mr. Vigilante. The owner caught him stealing, that’s all.”
“Oh.” He exhales, the tension draining from his voice. “Ah.”
“Ah is right.”
The silence that follows is thick and unsure, stretched out between us like something neither of us wants to name.
I shift, curling my free hand into the edge of the couch cushion. “Warren,” I say carefully, “do you ever think there’s some part of us that’s just ... stuck?”
“Stuck?”
