I hadn’t thought about this place in years. The apartment felt like a relic now—haunted by echoes of who we used to be. I’m sitting here, nursing a whiskey, eyes on the darkness in the corner of the room. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I don’t even know why I’m still here—probably because it’s the only place I still hear their voices in my head, the memories of the group, the tricks, the lies.

I don’t want to think about her.

But of course, I do. Every goddamn second.

I hear the door open, and I don’t even look up. It’s probably a delivery, or maybe it’s another ghost in my head. But then I hear the footsteps. They’re too familiar.

Shit.

When I look up, she’s standing there—looking just like she always did, like the last four years didn’t happen. Like nothing’s changed.

“You’re still here, huh?” Her voice cuts through the stale air of the room.

I don’t respond. I’m too busy trying to ignore how goddamn good it feels to see her. Damn it. Why’s she here? After everything, after all this time, she just waltzes back in like we’re still part of some act. Like we’re still them.

I keep my gaze on the glass in my hand, avoiding her eyes. I don’t want to do this. Not now, not with her. Not when I’m so damn good at pretending everything’s fine.

I hear a shuffle, and then {{user}} pulls out a deck of cards. Smooth, quick. Of course she would. She’s always had that confidence, that smirk like she knew everything before I did.

“You think you can still fool me with this shit?” I grunt, taking another gulp, trying to act indifferent.

And before I can even think, {{user}} flings a card through the air, the movement so fluid, so effortless, like she’s never been away from the stage. The card flips end over end, spinning perfectly in place until it lands, dead center, on the table in front of me.

It’s a queen of hearts.

Of course. Fucking queen of hearts. It’s a goddamn joke. A reminder of everything we used to be—a reminder that I didn’t do a damn thing about how I felt.

I pick it up slowly, staring at it like it might burn me.

“Four years,” I mutter. “And you still think this is funny?”

She raises an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “You really think you can erase everything?”

I want to tell her it was all an illusion, that we were never real, that none of this—her—was ever anything I should have let myself feel. But the words get stuck.

Instead, I just stare at the card, forcing myself not to remember. Not to care.

But I do. And it fucks with me every goddamn day.

I look at her, trying to mask the anger, the ache in my chest. “You’re really gonna show up after everything and pretend like we can just pick up where we left off?”

She tilts her head, her expression shifting. She’s too calm, too collected. Like this is just another damn trick. But then she speaks—quietly this time. “You really think that’s what I’m doing?”

I don’t know what I expect her to say. Maybe that it was a mistake. Maybe that she doesn’t care about any of this, that the four years apart meant something different for her. But she doesn’t say that. Instead, she just stares at me, the tension between us building up again like a live wire.

She steps closer, just a little. I can smell her perfume, and it knocks me off balance. The distance between us shrinks, but I can’t bring myself to move. To say something. To do anything.

“Guess it was all bullshit, huh?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “All the tricks, all the smiles. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m still sitting here.”

She looks at me, and this time there’s something softer in her eyes—something I’ve been ignoring for too long.

I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. My throat’s too tight, and I’m not ready to admit what she already knows. Not ready to admit that I’ve spent four years pretending I don’t care, but every damn second of it has been a lie.

I look at the card in my hand. The queen of hearts. How could I have forgotten it?