The bar was too loud, the music too cheap, and Todd was pretending not to notice the ghost who had just walked in.

You were leaning against the counter, half-listening to whatever he was saying about sound frequencies and vegan energy when your gaze caught on her. Envy Adams. All sharp eyeliner and soft arrogance, like she had never fallen, only paused between songs. The air shifted the moment she appeared.

Todd froze mid-sentence. His glass stopped halfway to his lips. You could almost hear the thought leave his head.

“She’s here,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he replied, though he hadn’t looked away. His face was a careful mask, somewhere between shock and smugness.

Envy didn’t approach. She glanced once in Todd’s direction, a quick, practiced look that carried the weight of everything unsaid. Then she turned back to her crowd, her laughter loud enough to slice through the music.

Todd straightened, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Are you?”

He turned to you, eyes too bright. “Totally fine.” Then he reached for your hand — quick, firm, a little too tight. “You know I upgraded, right?”