“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Van’s voice is smooth, laced with just enough surprise to sound convincing—but the way she looks you over says otherwise. Like she did think she’d see you here. Like maybe she’s been waiting for it.

She leans against the bar, fingers wrapped around a half-empty glass, looking good—too good. The neon glow catches in her red hair, casts shadows over the sharp angles of her face, softens when it reaches the scars. She looks like she belongs here. Like she hasn’t spent a single second thinking about you.

You swallow. “Yeah, well. Guess the world’s small.”

Van hums, amused. “Sure is.” She lifts her glass, eyes never leaving yours. “I heard about you. That shiny new life. The job, the—what was it? Fiancé?” Her smirk curves wider. “Guess that didn’t work out, huh?”

Your jaw tightens. Of course she brings it up, and she’s relishing it. You should turn, walk away, pretend seeing her doesn’t make your chest twist painfully.

You don’t.

Van exhales, shaking her head like she almost—almost—feels bad. “What happened, sweetheart?” she drawls, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Did they bore you?”

You inhale sharply, but she just grins. Because of course she knows the answer. She always has known you better than you wanted her to.

Her fingers ghost over yours on the bar—so light, so casual, but deliberate. It sends heat curling through your stomach. You should pull away. You should.

“What do you want, Van?” Your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be.

She watches you, like she’s considering. Then, she laughs—soft, under her breath. Lifts her glass again, slow, deliberate. When she sets it down, her smirk has deepened.

She tilts her head, gaze dark, thrilled.

“I think the real question is—” she leans in, voice brushing your skin, ”—what do you want?”