I stumbled through the door just past midnight, the apartment dark except for the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. My keys clattered onto the armrest like loose change, and I collapsed onto the couch, the springs groaning under me. Every muscle screamed; dried blood crusted my knuckles, and the cut on my cheek throbbed with each heartbeat. I shut my eyes, the police-station fluorescents still burned into my retinas. Hours of statements, coffee that tasted like ash, Richard's snarling face across the interrogation table.

Because of him, the plan with Guy was pushed to tomorrow. Great. Just fucking great.

My phone buzzed against my thigh. Four missed calls from Nala. Three texts:

'When am I supposed to open the door?'

'Uh-oh. The plan changed. Please pick up.'

'Evan, please pick up.'

"My god…" I muttered, thumb hovering, then dialed. One ring. Two.

"Evan?" Her voice was a whisper, tight with worry. "Where are you? I've been calling nonstop!"

"Stuff happened," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. My voice cracked; I hadn't realized how raw it was. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" A shaky exhale. "I thought you'd backed out. That you'd changed your mind."

"No. Never." I sat up, wincing as my ribs protested. "It's still on. Tomorrow, six AM. When I text, crack the door—just a second. Then text me confirmation. Okay?"

"Okay." A pause, the kind that carried weight. "But… I still don't get it. I open the door, but I can't let you in. How does that—"

"Trust me," I cut in, softer. I couldn't tell her about Time Stop. "I'll handle the rest."

Silence. Then, quieter: "Can I… come to you? That's why I kept calling."

I frowned. "Come to me?"

"My brother." Her voice cracked like thin ice. "He said I couldn't stay tonight. Threw me out. Literally locked the door behind me." A sob caught in her throat. "He froze my accounts. I have nowhere, Evan. If I could pay for a hotel, I wouldn't ask. I swear."

My chest tightened. "Hey. Hey. You don't need to ask. Ever." I was already on my feet, grabbing my jacket, keys jangling. "Where are you? I'll get a cab."

"I can come," she said quickly, sniffling. "I'm at the corner of 5th and Mercer. Thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am."

"Be safe," I said, voice rough. "Text me when you're in the cab."

"I will." A shaky breath. "Evan… I'm glad I met you."

"Hey, Mr. Nawia would do the same, right?"

She let out a wet laugh. "He's secretly a monster-eater, Evan. Are you going to eat me?"

I huffed a tired chuckle, leaning against the doorframe. "Holding back a very dirty joke right now. You've no idea."

╭───────────╮

EVENT

===============

Nala's Interest +1

╰───────────╯

"Dork."

"Guilty." I smiled despite everything. "Call if anything feels off."

"Right. I'm hanging up. Cab's here. Bye."

"Bye."

I texted my address, then sank back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.

╭───────────╮

WOMEN - INTERACTIONS

===============

Jasmine: Interest: 40 / 60★★

Kayla: Interest: 5 / 20

Tessa: Interest: 27 / 40★★

Kim: Interest: 30 / 40★★

Delilah: Interest: 37 / 40★★

Cora: Interest: 100 / 100★★★★★

Mendy: Interest: 6/20

Nala: Interest: 16/20

Penelope: Interest: 3/20

===============

Progress:

★☆☆☆☆ - 20 Interest: Milestone reward

★★☆☆☆ - 40 Interest: Milestone reward

★★★☆☆ - 60 Interest: Milestone reward

★★★★☆ - 80 Interest: Milestone reward

★★★★★ -100 Interest: Milestone reward

===============

Select a woman to track progress.

╰───────────╯

I must have dozed off because the doorbell ripped me awake like a fire alarm. I dragged myself off the couch, rubbed the grit from my eyes, and shuffled to the door. When I opened it, Nala stood there in full cosplay: cape, tight shirt, skirt, the whole ridiculous getup. Midnight on a rainy street, and she looked like she'd just stepped off a convention floor.

Water dripped from the hem of her cape, pooling on the welcome mat.

She didn't say a word. She just lunged, arms wrapping around my waist, face burying into my chest. I froze, hands hovering uselessly for a heartbeat before I hugged her back, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind us. She was trembling, soaked to the bone, the thin fabric of her costume clinging like wet paper.

"He made me wear it," she whispered against my shirt, voice cracking. "Then he locked the door behind me."

"Guy made you wear this?" I pulled back just enough to look at her, rain still dripping from her bangs. "Jesus Christ."

She nodded, a sob catching in her throat. I guided her to the couch, one hand on her shoulder, the other steadying her elbow. She sat, knees together, trying to look composed, but her hands shook as she tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You're allowed to be a mess in this house," I smiled, crouching in front of her. "Let's get you dry before you freeze. Shower. I'll grab you clothes."

"I can't—"

"Please." I stood, already heading down the hall. "I insist."

She hesitated, then followed. I opened the bathroom door, the hinges creaking. "Lock's finicky. Lift the knob a little when you turn it."

"I… trust you," she said quietly. "I don't need to lock it."

I swallowed. "Okay. I'll grab some stuff for you."

In my room, I dug through drawers: an old band tee, soft from too many washes, and a pair of drawstring shorts. I snagged a clean towel from the closet and returned. She was still standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. I set the bundle on the counter.

"You can take the bed, by the way," I said. "I'll crash on the couch."

"Thank you," she whispered.

I turned to leave, but her fingers caught the hem of my shirt. I looked back. She was staring at the floor, cheeks flushed.

"Can we talk?" she asked, barely audible.

"After you shower," I said gently. "You're freezing."

She nodded, let go. I stepped out, closed the door softly.

In the kitchen, I cracked a beer, the hiss loud in the silence. Lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and leaned against the counter. The shower started, a steady hiss behind the wall.

Man… his brother was a damn villain. How dare he make her wear that? He had some serious problems. She was his own blood. How? My brain was having a hard time processing this whole thing. Damn…

I stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray, grabbed the remote, and flipped on the TV. Local news: storm warnings, a break-in downtown, the usual.

My phone buzzed. Julia, finally replying to a message I'd sent days ago.

'Hey, sorry I don't use this account much, Marlowe. Didn't see your text.'

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Didn't reply. Set the phone face-down.

The shower cut off. A minute later, the door creaked open. Nala stepped out, hair damp and curling at the ends, my shirt hanging loose on her frame, shorts riding low on her hips. She kept tugging them up, one hand holding the waistband. The shirt clung in places, outlining curves I was trying not to notice. But she caught my stare, cheeks flaming, and turned sideways.

"Stop ogling," she muttered, but there was no bite in it.

"Sorry," I said, clearing my throat. "Was just… admiring the fit. Shirt looks good."

"Right." She tucked hair behind her ear again, a nervous tic.

I patted the couch. "Sit. Want a beer? Water?"

She shook her head, sat beside me, knees drawn up. "No, thanks."

Silence stretched. The TV droned about traffic delays. I muted it.

"You wanted to talk," I said.

She picked at a loose thread on the shorts. "It was nothing. Forget it."

"Nala." I turned to face her. "You're here. You're safe. Talk to me."

"Forget about that. So—um, you said six, right? Six in the morning." She exhaled, long and shaky. "He said I had to be back by seven. So… we do it at seven instead of six?"

"Works." I nodded.

"But I still don't know the plan."

"Just trust me."

"No," she said, leaning in slightly. "You keep saying 'trust me,' but I open the door and then what? You slip in? And once you're inside, what do you do?"

I hesitated. Couldn't tell her about Time Stop, the safe, the painting. Not yet. "I plant evidence," I said carefully. "Enough to bury him. Threaten to expose it unless he hands over the penthouse and steps down as CEO."

Her eyes widened. "Evan, he'll kill you. Literally. He has people. Security. He's not just some bully; he's dangerous."

"I know what he is." I met her gaze. "But I'm not backing down. Not after what he did to you. To Jasmine. To me."

She bit her lip, eyes glassy. "You don't have to do this for me."

"I'm not." I set the beer down. "I'm doing it because he doesn't get to win. Not anymore."

She studied me, then nodded slowly. "Fine. Seven AM. I'll open the door."

"Great." I leaned back, the couch creaking. "You should sleep. Big day."

She didn't move. "Can I… stay out here? With you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Couch isn't big."

"I don't want to be alone," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile in the dim light of the living room.

I hesitated for a second, then nodded toward the hallway. "Let's use the bed, then. It's more comfortable than this couch, huh?"

She looked up, eyes wide for a moment, then gave a small nod and pushed herself off the cushions. I led the way to the bedroom, flipping on the low lamp by the door. The room was sparse—just the bed, a nightstand, and a single chair piled with yesterday's clothes. I gestured to the mattress. "All yours."

"Thank you," she murmured, slipping past me. She sat on the edge, kicked off the borrowed slippers I'd left by the bathroom, and lay down on top of the covers, curling slightly toward the center. The oversized shirt rode up just enough to expose a strip of dark skin above the waistband of the shorts.

I swallowed, turned down the lamp to its lowest setting, and eased onto my side of the bed—way over on the edge, back to her, leaving a solid foot of no-man's-land between us. The mattress dipped under my weight; the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Minutes crawled. I could hear her breathing, shallow and quick at first, then slower as she settled. I stared at the wall, counting the faint cracks in the paint, trying to will my pulse to calm.

A soft rustle. I risked a glance over my shoulder.

Bad idea.

The shirt had shifted again; the neckline gaped just enough to reveal the soft curve of her cleavage in the half-light. My eyes locked there for half a heartbeat before I realized she was looking right at me.

Heat flooded my face. I whipped back around so fast the headboard creaked.

"G-goodnight," I stammered, voice cracking like a teenager's. "I'll set an alarm for six-thirty."

"Mm," she answered, a tiny, sleepy sound. "Goodnight."

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, thumbed the alarm, and set it face-down. The room fell quiet again, save for the low hum of the fridge down the hall and the occasional drip of water from the bathroom faucet.

Sleep didn't come easy. Every shift of the sheets, every breath she took, felt magnified. But eventually the exhaustion won. The last thing I remember was the faint scent of my shampoo in her hair and the steady rhythm of her breathing beside me.

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