The air in your apartment was heavy, the kind of tension that made every tick of the clock on the wall feel like a countdown to something inevitable. Nikto’s voice crackled faintly through the phone, smooth but carrying that familiar edge that made you nervous even after all this time apart.

“We can hear it in your voice,” Nikto said. “Something’s wrong.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but words failed you. There was no point in lying. Nikto always had a way of pulling the truth out of you. Even now, with him states away in some prison whose name you could not recall.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you mumbled, though you knew it wouldn’t convince him.

There was a pause, the kind that Nikto always used to make you squirm. Then his tone shifted, colder, more commanding. “Let us talk to him.”

“Ten minutes,” he continued. Not even giving you the chance to decline.

You hesitated, glancing over at your partner sitting on the couch. He was scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the storm brewing just feet away. The thought of Nikto speaking to him was absurd, terrifying even. But Nikto’s hold on you was strong, even from prison. Maybe it was guilt, or some twisted kind of loyalty, but you found yourself relenting.

“Fine,” you said, throat tight. “Ten minutes.”

You handed the phone to your partner with a muttered explanation. Confused but curious, he took it and stepped into the next room. The door closed, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts.

Ten minutes felt like an eternity. You sat there, chewing on your nails, half tempted to burst in and rip the phone away. When the door finally opened, your partner emerged, his face pale but composed. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed his jacket and started gathering his things.

The phone on the table buzzed. Nikto’s voice came through the speaker, smug and satisfied with the call still running.

“Still not sure why you ever thought someone like him was worth your time,” he said. “Now, let’s talk about us.”