8. Alexandra
I wake slowly, drifting up from sleep like I’m surfacing from deep water.
The first thing I notice is the quiet.
No steady breathing beside me. No solid warmth anchoring me to the bed. Just the faint hum of the building settling and distant, muffled sounds of life somewhere beyond these walls.
I turn my head.
The other side of the bed is empty.
Disappointment hits before I can stop it. Which is ridiculous. He didn’t promise anything. He stayed when I asked, when I was shaking and breaking apart, and that should be more than enough.
So why does my chest feel tight?
I stare up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks and shadows, trying to make sense of myself. The room is still unfamiliar, but it doesn’t feel unsafe. The bed is comfortable. The air smells clean, with something deeper underneath, like leather and smoke.
Him.
Prez. Stone.
My thoughts drift there whether I want them to or not. The way he held me last night, steady and unyielding, like the world couldn’t touch me as long as he was there. I’d asked him to stay without thinking. Needed him without understanding why.
That scares me.
I lie there for a few minutes, turning over my options. The police loom at the edges of my thoughts, heavy and unavoidable. I know calling them doesn’t cost money. I know that now. But knowing something and being ready for it are very different things.
Justin’s face flashes through my mind, the smug confidence, the cold edge beneath the friendliness.
Not yet, I decide.
Soon. Maybe. But not this morning.
A knock at the door makes me flinch.
“Lex?” Ella’s voice comes through softly. “You awake?”
“Yes,” I call, pushing myself up. “Come in.”
She steps inside with a small stack of folded clothes in her arms. Jeans. A T-shirt. A hoodie that looks soft and worn-in, like it’s been lived in.
“I thought you might want something clean,” she says. “They should fit. Or at least be close.”
“Thank you,” I say, and the word feels too small for how much I mean it.
She sets them on the bed. “No rush. When you’re ready, come by the bar.”
After she leaves, I take a long shower, letting the hot water loosen muscles I didn’t realize were still clenched. I rest my forehead against the tile, breathing deeply, letting the steam blur the edges of my thoughts.
And still, my mind circles back to Stone.
The way he looked at me wasn’t hungry or assessing. It was focused. Protective. Like something in him had decided I mattered before he’d even had time to question it.
It’s unsettling how safe I feel because of that.
I get dressed and step into the hallway, hesitating for a brief moment. Then my feet carry me forward without effort.
I realize halfway there that I remember exactly how to get to the bar.
It’s quieter than last night, sunlight spilling through the windows, catching dust in the air. Ella stands behind the bar with two men.
One of them is big and solid, broad shoulders stretching his T-shirt, stance loose and easy like he’s perfectly comfortable taking up space. He’s pressed close to Ella, one hip angled toward her, an arm draped casually along the bar behind her back. Every so often, his hand brushes her waist — absentminded, familiar — like he can’t help himself. He smiles easily.
The other man stands a step removed. Leaner. Still. His posture is straight without being rigid, hands resting lightly on the bar, eyes sharp and unreadable. He doesn’t touch anything unnecessarily. Doesn’t waste movement. When his gaze flicks up, it feels precise — like he’s cataloging details rather than judging them.
Ella sees me and smiles. “There she is.”
“Morning,” I say.
“Lex,” she says, nodding toward the bigger man, “this is Engine. My man.”
Engine’s arm tightens briefly around her waist as he grins. “Nice to meet you.”
“And this,” Ella continues, gesturing to the other man, “is Cyber.”
Cyber gives a brief nod. “Hey.”
I take a seat at the bar. Ella slides a coffee toward me, then Engine leans in close, murmuring something near her ear that makes her snort under her breath. He steals a quick kiss before the two of them drift toward the back, voices low and intimate, leaving Cyber and me alone.
He studies me for a moment. “Mind if I ask you a few things?”
I tense slightly. “Depends on what things.”
“Basic,” he says easily. “Background stuff. Where you’re from. That kind of thing.”
“Why?”
“Because a guy followed you here last night,” he replies calmly. “And because you’re under our roof.”
That makes sense. I still hesitate.
“Name, date of birth,” he continues. “Paperwork details.”
I relax a fraction. “That’s fine. Just… nothing sensitive.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Fair.”
We sat in the quiet for a while, the conversation coming in low, jagged pieces. Denmark. The exchange program. The three weeks I’d spent in the U.S. trying to figure out where I fit. He was a good listener—the kind who didn't just wait for his turn to talk, but actually let the silence sit between us until I was ready.
"What’s the major?" he asked.
"Web design."
He nodded, and for a second I wondered if he even knew what that meant in a place like this. "Frontend or full stack?"
"UX," I said, a little surprised by the specific question. "That’s the goal, anyway. Research, design, the human side of it. But the program forces a programming component down our throats."
"Backend?" he guessed, a trace of a smirk pulling at his mouth.
I made a face, my nose wrinkling instinctively. "Yeah."
That earned a real laugh—brief, sharp, and unmistakably genuine. It was a good sound, deep and low. "Okay, yeah. That explains the look."
"What look?"
"The one people get when the logic makes sense but they still want to hurl their laptop out a window."
I snorted despite myself. The tension in my shoulders dipped just an inch. "I get how it works. I do. It’s just... back home it was different. More collaborative. Less solo suffering over a missing semicolon."
"Makes sense," he said easily, shifting his weight in the chair. "Switching systems like that is like learning to drive on the other side of the road while the car’s on fire."
There was a pause. It wasn't a heavy, suffocating silence—it was just quiet.
"If you ever need to bounce some ideas off someone," he added, his tone neutral, "I'm around. I spend an unreasonable amount of time arguing with machines and I usually win."
That gets a real smile out of me.
The word help still flickers, instinctive and sharp — but he doesn’t frame it that way. Doesn’t wait for an answer.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
He nods once, like that’s enough.
Movement at the edge of my vision pulls my attention away.
Stone steps into the bar.
He takes in the scene instantly — me at the counter, Cyber turned toward me — and something dark flashes across his face, gone almost as quickly as it appears.
“Cyber,” he says.
Cyber glances up, then smirks. “Prez.”
“I need Lex for a minute,” Stone says.
Cyber studies him, clearly catching the undercurrent. His grin widens just a bit. “All yours.” He winks at me.
He slips away, leaving an unexpected stillness behind.
Stone takes the stool beside me instead of standing. The choice feels intentional. Less intimidating.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. We were just talking.”
He watches me for a moment, then exhales slowly. “Good.”
I wrap my hands around the coffee mug Ella brought me earlier. “I’ve been thinking,” I say. “About next steps.”
His attention sharpens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I don’t think I’m ready to go to the police here,” I continue. “But I decided I’m going to call my university back home. Tell them what happened. See what advice they have.”
Something shifts in his expression—not anger, not disappointment. Respect.
“That’s smart,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to rush anything.”
I meet his gaze, surprised by how steady I feel doing it. “I just… I need to do something.”
“You are,” he replies. “And whatever you decide, you won’t do it alone.”