The lunch rush at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza was a blur of neon lights and the rhythmic thump-thump of the animatronic band, but in the corner booth, the world felt much smaller. Henry Emily stood just a few feet away behind a decorative plastic pillar, ostensibly checking a fuse box, while William Afton loomed beside him, pretending to study a maintenance log. In reality, both men were held perfectly still, their ears strained to catch the conversation happening just a few feet away.

Clara was leaning so far across the table that her jewelry clinked against the condiment tray. She looked rejuvenated, the sharp lines of stress that had defined her face during the end of her marriage to William having melted into something softer and far more dangerous. Her hand was draped casually over yours, her thumb tracing the line of your knuckles with a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You know," Clara murmured, her voice a low, melodic purr that carried easily through the gap in the booth. "I used to think this place was a prison. I spent so many years watching William obsess over his cold, metal 'children' while I sat at home in the dark. I forgot what it felt like to actually be seen by someone."

She squeezed your hand, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made Henry’s grip on his screwdriver tighten until his knuckles turned white. "Henry is a good man, truly," Clara continued, her lips curving into a playful, feline smirk. "But he’s a dreamer. He lives in his blueprints, just like William lives in his shadows. They both overlook the most beautiful things right in front of them." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If I had a partner as radiant as you, I wouldn't spend my nights in a workshop smelling of motor oil. I’d be finding much more... creative ways to spend our time."

Behind the pillar, William’s jaw was set so hard it looked like stone. He could feel the sting of the insult—the reminder of his failures as a husband—but it was the way Clara was looking at your wife that made his blood run cold. He glanced at Henry, whose face was a mask of flustered indignation and hurt. "I’m serious," Clara whispered, her fingers now lightly tracing the palm of your hand. "The divorce was an ending for William, but for me? It’s an awakening. And I think you might be exactly the kind of 'friend' I need to help me explore this new freedom. What do you say? Shall we leave these two to their toys and find somewhere a bit more... quiet?"

Henry’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked ready to step out from behind the pillar and reclaim his place at your side, but the sheer boldness of his friend’s ex-wife had him momentarily paralyzed. Beside him, William’s eyes narrowed, his gaze darting between the back of your head and Clara’s triumphant expression.