Chapter 2.3 A Hasty Engagement

Rowan laughed, genuinely. For the first time since she found out Kyle was engaged, she felt some peace. He seemed okay—and that was better than what she had imagined walking into the Dead End that night.

She sipped from Kyle’s drink without asking and exhaled like the first layer of frost had melted from her bones. Wes didn’t press. Didn’t try to outshine. He just let the moment live in the space between them, unfussed.

He was…normal. No weird power plays. No eager smiles that looked like thinly veiled threats. Just a guy in a hoodie and boots with good taste in comedy.

Kyle reached over and squeezed Rowan’s knee under the table.

“Well?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do I have your blessing, or am I sleeping with one eye open?”

Rowan pretended to consider it. Looked Wes over one more time.

“You’re lucky he’s funny,” she said. “That earns you exactly one eye shut.”

Kyle beamed. Wes raised his glass. Rowan’s eyes locked on him, she clinked her glass to his.

For a second, it felt nice allowing herself to be okay with the situation.

Rowan’s bladder always betrayed her while drinking. She didn’t do it often, not just for this reason, but her mind would race. A thousand thoughts at once, she regularly gave herself the spins. She yawned, stretched and for what felt like the tenth time, excused herself. The night had settled into its second act—when the crowd thickened, the music grew louder, and the line to the bar stretched back to the pinball machines.

Rowan fought her way through the dense crowd to get back to their table. After snaking through sweaty bodies, she made it to the other side and saw Kyle on her tippy toes, waving animatedly. Rowan leaned into the booth, cradling her drink with one hand and half-listening as Wes and Kyle debated something about movie tropes and overused twist endings. Kyle was animated. Wes looked like he could listen forever.

Rowan’s smile was small but real. Her eyelids were heavy, and she felt a warmth move through her.

And then—

Something caught her attention, just out of her field of vision.

To the left – a figure near the coat room.

Tall. Still. Watching.

She turned her head sharply—nothing.

Just a half-drunk guy struggling to put on a parka and missing the sleeve entirely. Kyle laughed. Rowan laughed with her. But her fingers tightened around her glass.

A minute later—again.

Across the room, behind the mismatched neon signs and the vintage arcade cabinet no one ever played. A shape.

Still.

Watching.

But when she turned to look - nothing.

Her skin prickled, but not with fear. It was a recognition without reason. A tickle of déjà vu, stitched with something older.

 “Earth to Barclay,” Kyle waved a hand in front of her face. “ROWAN!”

Rowan blinked.

“What?”

“You good?”

Rowan shook her head, smiling faintly. She looked around, leaned across the booth and into Kyle’s face. In that moment Rowan realized she was more drunk than she meant to be.

“I think someone is stalking me.”

Kyle rolled her eyes ever so slightly. But Rowan was an expert at noticing even the slightest of movements most people didn’t realize they were making. “You don’t believe me!”

“I didn’t say that, Ro,” she explained with her eyes wide. “Tell me more.”

“It’s a shadow, Kyle. A big, stocky, square…-ish shadow,” Rowan said, knowing how it sounded but not caring. “It followed me here,” she whispered.

Kyle nodded. “Totally normal thing to say.” Rowan’s jaw dropped and then twisted into an annoyed smirk.

Wes returned with a new round and slid into the booth next to Kyle.

Rowan laughed, but something still hummed under her skin. Like a door was left open somewhere, and the draft was calling her name.