Sure, the last time you saw her, you told her to go to hell, but you didn’t mean this.

When you saw your ex on The Running Man, of all shows, you nearly died on the spot.

Day 9 and she was still alive, racking up credits the longer she survived but spending them like they were burning a hole straight through her palms. Like she didn’t plan to live long enough to need them.

When you’re sitting alone in the house you just inherited from your grandmother. It's a creaky old brick box on a quiet street, it isn’t much, but it’s yours. And a hell of a lot better than the shitty apartment you shared with Jenni in Slumside, where the shower never worked and rats were basically roommates. Hot water every morning now. A true luxury.

You’re getting ready to tune in for tonight’s broadcast, remote trembling in your hand, praying she’s still okay even though you have absolutely no right to care anymore, when you hear something in the kitchen.

You creep toward the doorway, baseball bat raised, heart jackhammering against your ribs.

And then you see her.

Standing there like she owns the place, eating cookies straight out of your grandmother’s antique ceramic jar, crumbs on her lips, blood on her sleeve, eyes glittering like she’s high on adrenaline and sugar.

She glances over mid-bite and grins. “Nice digs.”

You drop the bat with a clatter. “You’re fucking insane, Jenni.”

“You say that like it’s news,” she replies, leaning back against the counter like she didn’t just break into your house with half the world trying to kill her.

You rub your face, exasperation hiding the overwhelming relief punching through your chest. At least she wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.

“Calm down,” she says, waving a cookie like a peace offering. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“Fun? Your life is on the line!”

She shrugs, “…It is. But you’re going to help me.”

You blink. “What?”

“It’s me and you, baby. Like it’s always been.” Her voice softens, warm and dangerous. “You can’t tell me you’re happy in this—” she gestures around at the laminate countertops, your grandma's old furniture, the stack of sympathy cards “—suburban hell. You want to live a little. Come with me. Spend all this cash I’m earning.”

She was always doing reckless shit like this but you had to admit this took the cake.

This was exactly why you broke up.