<-----Mia's Bedroom----->
Mia's breath hitched, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest as her eyes darted around the room, searching. The sudden rush of memories, the lingering phantom touch on her arm, sent a frantic tremor through her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. No, she whispered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. It was... just my imagination.
But a cold certainty settled in her gut.
It wasn't imagination. The brush of his skin, the unexpected vulnerability she'd witnessed – it had unnerved her more than any of Alex's threats. That's why she felt like this. It wasn't a trick of the mind.
A faint, chilling breeze ghosted past, raising goosebumps on her neck, even though her window was closed. It felt like a warning, a cold whisper of something she couldn't ignore. He touches me, and I actually feel something. This is not what I signed up for.
With a sudden, decisive jerk, she pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen a brief, harsh glow in the dim room. She quickly dialed a number. The ring tone seemed to stretch on forever, each beat ratcheting up her already frayed nerves.
"Mia, honey," a deep male voice purred through the speaker, saccharine sweet. "What a delightful day to be called by you."
"Cut the crap," Mia snapped, her voice low and tight, laced with a barely controlled tremor. She waited, listening to the static hum on the other end. When he didn't immediately respond, her brow furrowed, a knot of raw frustration tightening in her chest. "Listen," she continued, her voice gaining an edge of desperation. "I just did something that wasn't in the contract, and I expect double—no, triple the pay." She glared at the phone as if the person on the other end could see her, clutching the device so tightly her knuckles whitened. "Start paying up, or there's no way I'm sticking around for whatever else you've got planned."
The male on the other end took a slow, deliberate breath, his voice softening, becoming deceptively calm. "What did you do, exactly? I don't recall asking you to do anything further than just being there for him."
A beat of silence, designed to let his words sink in, to remind her of her place. "Besides, you acted on your own will, if I remember correctly. Hahaha, aren't you the independent one?"
"Being independent has nothing to do with this!" Mia retorted, her voice rising despite herself. "You threw him into the freaking pile of trash for crying out loud!"
"Well, who wants a half-baked bullying?" he chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "We had to make him feel like trash, hahaha."
"I had to touch him," Mia practically spat, disgust lacing her tone. "And I got all that disgusting scent and other unrecognizable goo on me. I don't even want to contemplate if it was—"
"Ahhhh!" She didn't think twice, her finger stabbing the "end call" button. The connection cut with a sharp click, and she hurled the phone onto her bed, as if it were a burning coal.
The phone, under the influence of her frantic throw, didn't just stop. It bounced, arcs of its trajectory reflecting in the sudden surge of adrenaline through her veins. It collided with the wall, screen-first, with a sickening crack. As if that wasn't enough, gravity seemed to conspire against her, pulling the damaged device downward toward the floor.
It tumbled in a moment of chaotic descent, its cracked screen flashing briefly, an agonizing blink, before it struck the carpet with a muffled thud. For a moment, a stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint creak of the phone as it settled, slightly askew. Mia stared at the fallen device, her heart pounding, the cold dread spreading through her veins. Her phone. Her only phone. The lifeline to her entire, precarious existence. Panic clawed at her throat, her chest felt like a thousand needles were jabbing at it.
<-----Outside Mia's Door---->
Owen pondered deeply, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stood in front of Mia's door. It had taken him a full twelve minutes to get here, his feet dragging through the unfamiliar streets, his mind still a hazy echo chamber of the nightmares. He couldn't rest in his own room; the oppressive dread and the vivid dreams kept bugging him. He needed to see Mia. At least she would listen to his weird dreams, or at least pretend to. Sigh. His bestie.
He knocked gently, three soft taps against the wood. The sound seemed to resonate unnaturally loud in the quiet hallway. Inside, he heard a sudden flurry of rushed footsteps, a frantic scurry that quickly moved down the stairs, followed by an audible click. Someone had opened the door.
Mia had rushed down the stairs after grabbing her phone from the floor. Two disgustingly large cracks spiderwebbed across the screen, turning her world into a shattered mosaic. She felt like her head was spinning, her vision blurred by rising panic. She didn't think twice. She had to get it fixed. Immediately.
"Fucking hell... and all that is holy—" Her frantic dash brought her to the door.
She flung it open, her momentum carrying her forward, unable to come to a complete stop before she crashed, head-first, into Owen.
The impact was jarring. She stumbled forward, a grunt escaping her lips, but Owen, surprisingly quick, caught her mid-motion, his hands steadying her. The brief contact was like an electric shock. She quickly stumbled away from his arms, her heart hammering with rapid, suffocating beats in her chest. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she retched subtly, gagging on the bile that rose in her throat from the unintended contact. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, forcing the bile back down.
Owen, whose mind was still reeling from his own anxieties, didn't even connect her reaction to him. Maybe she hurt her stomach or something, he thought, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Whoa, slow down," Owen said, his voice calm but firm, a hint of genuine concern flickering in his eyes. He stepped closer again, his grip gentle but steady on her shoulders, his presence surprisingly grounding despite her internal turmoil. Mia's breath hitched. This contact, his concern, could jeopardize everything she'd worked for. "Are you okay? You look like you just went through a forest and saw a bear. Calm down first." His voice softened further, a subtle attempt to ground her amid her evident distress.
She hesitated, torn between her desperate urgency to fix her phone and the unexpected kindness in his tone. Her fingers unconsciously brushed the shards of her broken device in her hand—small fragments of glass glittered where they'd detached. She took a shaky breath, trying to suppress the frantic energy pounding through her chest.
"Sorry," she repeated, her voice trembling. "It's just… my phone. It's in critical condition. If I don't get it fixed... it's like my lifeline, and it's completely dead."
Owen chuckled, a small, wry sound, attempting to ease her panic. "You know we have wizards, right? They can resurrect your dear phone."
"You're not helping," she retorted, staring at him with a mixture of exasperation and genuine distress.
Owen's brow furrowed, and he stepped back slightly, giving her space to breathe. "Alright, I get it. But running out like this was dangerous. What if I had a knife?" He went quiet for a few seconds before adding, a teasing note entering his voice, "Or maybe chocolate cake?"
It was her favorite thing, well, after money, of course. She looked at him, caught in a moment, truly seeing his calm exterior. She could see a spark of genuine concern in his eyes, a silent offer of support.
"No," she whispered fiercely, shaking her head. "I have to go now. I don't have time."
He paused, considering her frantic words, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But promise me you'll be careful. Don't rush into things blindly." He moved to the side to allow her to pass after she had closed the door, but before she could walk six steps, he spoke again.
"You know what? Let's go together. With your clumsy self in such a state, I don't know what kind of havoc you could bring."
"Did you just call me a walking disaster?" She squinted her eyes towards him, a flicker of something beyond panic in her gaze.
"What? I said 'such'? I don't remember. Let's go, your phone won't fix itself, beautiful." He blurted out quickly, trying to change the topic, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.
She didn't bother continuing the argument, her gaze already fixed back on her phone, the shattered screen mirroring her shattered calm. "God, kill me now," she muttered under her breath, ignoring the sudden warmth in her cheeks.