Page 128 of Nowhere to Hide
“I look like I’m being punished.”
“Also true.”
Rowan’s apartment is too small for this many people, which is exactly why it works. Luca showed up three hours ago with a lopsided tree he swears he acquired legally, and now it’s leaning against the bookshelf, dropping needles whenever anyone walks past.
Theo strung the lights on the tree and ran out of them two-thirds of the way around, so one side twinkles and the otheris dark pine and a single ornament Niko placed before losing interest and walking away without comment.
There’s wrapping paper underfoot, garlic bread going dark in the oven — Luca’s, naturally — and somebody’s playlist keeps cycling between carols and a trap remix of “Jingle Bells” that makes Rowan tense every time it comes on.
I’m in the corner of the couch in one of Rowan’s sweaters, knees pulled up, with a mug of something Luca swears is mulled wine. At this moment, I’m half-listening to Theo and Niko argue about whetherDie Hardcounts as a Christmas movie.
“It takes place at Christmas,” Theo says. “It’s a Christmas movie.”
“The Shiningtakes place in winter. It is not a winter film,” Niko says.
“That’s the worst comparison I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet you can’t refute it.”
Theo looks to me for backup. I shake my head. “I’m Switzerland.”
“You’re a coward.”
“I’m at peace.”
Across the room, Rowan leans against the kitchen counter, a mug in his hand, half-smiling at something Luca’s saying. Three months ago, he’d have topped up a drink nobody asked him to, redirected the conversation, and rinsed a glass while he did it.
Tonight, Rowan is just letting the chaos breathe.
He catches me watching and lifts the mug, the smallest tilt, like a toast.
I lift mine back.
It’s been weeks since the gala, and nothing has gone sideways. I keep bracing for it. The post came down, Mason stayed suspended, and the whispers didn’t disappear overnight, but they stopped feeling bigger than me.
It hasn’t all been cleaned up, though.
There's a girl from my comms seminar — Delaney, who used to save me the window seat and pass over her spare pen whenever mine died — who doesn't quite meet my eye anymore.
She's polite about it, which is somehow worse than if she'd just picked a side out loud. I've stopped waiting for her to circle back, and some other people, too. Some people liked the smaller, quieter version of me, and that one didn't come back either, and I can live with that.
And the grant came through — my grant, my project, my story — and Moreno has been helping me work on it since. It’s my truth, and it’s helping me heal and finally find my place at Halden.
The oven timer goes off.
“That’s the garlic bread,” Luca says, not moving.
“Yourgarlic bread,” Rowan says.
“Ourgarlic bread. It’s Christmas.”
Rowan sighs, gets it out, and declares it DOA, dropping the black lump of carbs on the counter. But the fact that he doesn’t immediately panic and order more food, or start cleaning the mess Luca has caused by overcooking, counts as some sort of progress.
“Right,” Seb announces, hoisting a black garbage bag Ivy has labeled SANTA’S SACK in gold marker. “If I’m wearing this, I’m doing the job. Sit.”
“You don’t have to—” Rowan starts.
“I said sit.”
