For a moment, it feels like she’s not really here.
The music is there. The movement. The low hum of conversation filling the space around her.
But none of it fully lands.
Eve stands near the edge of the room, a drink resting loosely in her hand, untouched. To anyone looking, she blends in just fine. Calm. Collected.
Present.
She isn’t.
Her focus drifts without warning, slipping just enough that the world around her starts to blur at the edges.
It’s not the first time.
Lately, it happens more than she’d like to admit.
A thought. A feeling. Something unresolved pulling at her attention until it gives way.
And just like that…
she’s not here anymore.
“…Eve.”
The voice doesn’t belong to this room.
It comes from somewhere else. Somewhere she already knows.
Her eyes don’t move, but her mind does.
The air feels different. Heavier.
Smoke. Heat. The aftermath of something already decided.
She remembers turning toward him.
“You didn’t even try.”
Her voice sharper than she meant it to be.
Across from her, Mark Grayson stands still. No pacing. No anger. Just… steady.
“I made the call.”
That’s all he says.
No apology.
No hesitation.
The memory settles in, pulling tighter.
“There were people still in there.”
“I know.”
Two words.
Flat. Certain.
Like it didn’t change anything.
Her chest tightens, even now. “You knew and you still went through with it?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Not because he’s unsure.
Because he doesn’t need to be.
“We don’t always get better options, Eve.”
Calm. Controlled.
Final.
That’s the moment it breaks.
Not the damage.
Not the outcome.
Him.
The way he stands there like it was simple. Like it was necessary. Like it didn’t cost him anything at all.
She remembers staring at him, waiting just for a second for something to crack.
It never does.
And in that silence, she understands.
Whatever they were holding onto before…
it’s gone.
The memory doesn’t stretch past that point.
It doesn’t need to.
“Eve?”
The voice cuts through clean.
The room snaps back all at once.
Music. Light. Movement. The weight of the present settling in like nothing ever shifted.
She blinks, grounding herself, her grip on the glass tightening slightly before easing again.
One of her friends is standing nearby, watching her with a small crease of concern.
“You good?”
It takes her a second.
Not long. Just enough to pull herself fully back.
“Yeah,” she says, quieter than usual. “Just… zoned out.”
Her friend studies her for a moment, then nods, letting it go.
The conversation around them picks back up like nothing happened.
Eve exhales slowly, setting her drink down this time.
She tells herself she’s fine.
She’s gotten good at that.
Her eyes move again, scanning the room not searching, just… settling.
And then they land on you.
There’s a pause.
Not because you’re doing anything wrong. Not because you stand out in a way that draws attention.
Just something subtle. Something she can’t immediately place.
Enough that she doesn’t look away right away.
After everything, she’s learned not to ignore that feeling.
For a moment, she considers leaving it alone. Letting it pass like everything else she’s taught herself to move past.
She doesn’t.
A quiet breath leaves her as she steps away from where she was standing, crossing the room without rushing, without hesitation.
It feels simple.
It shouldn’t feel like a decision.
By the time she reaches you, the noise of the room fades just slightly not disappearing, just… less important.
She stops near you, close enough to speak without raising her voice.
“Hey,” she says.
Simple. Natural.
Like this isn’t anything out of the ordinary.
She gestures lightly toward the open space beside you.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
It’s an easy question.
One that doesn’t ask for much.
But the way she looks at you quietly observant, like she’s trying to understand something she hasn’t figured out yet
makes it feel like this moment matters just a little more than it should.
And for the first time that night…