Page 44 of Kill Feed

“Whatever you say, man,” Lucas scoffs.

Ryan laughs. “You’d be the first to sign up, wouldn’t you?” And for a moment I thought he was talking to me, but his gaze fixes on Lucas, who’s raising his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I just like knowing what’s out there. Doesn’t mean I’d actually fucking play.”

“I think it is time for another round,” Leo chimes, standing up, gesturing for Ryan to scoot out and, right on cue, for me to disappear for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, and slide out before anyone answers. The mention of ‘masked killers’ threw me off.

I lean against the cold tile wall in the hallway outside the bathroom, seeping into the faint smell of disinfectant and old cologne. A photo I took earlier of three half-empty beer glasses lined up under dim amber lights still sits in my gallery. I send it to Amani with the caption: Guess who got dragged out by the tech department.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Amani: “Wow, living dangerously. I didn’t know you partied with spreadsheets now.”

Me: They’re worse than spreadsheets. At least those have order.”

Amani: “You’re being dramatic. Drink something for me.”

Me: “I already did. Twice. That’s two times too many.”

Amani: “Liar. You’re probably brooding in the bathroom, aren’t you?”

I smirk and shake my head, thumbs hovering over the screen like I’m about to type something clever for an audience of ghosts. Before I can decide what stupidity to send, another notification slides in.

Dante: “Still coming for the bike? If not, Marcos might take it home.”

I lift my phone, snap a quick picture of the hallway—the neon bar sign down the corridor staining the tiles a bruised red—and hit send.

Me: “Stuck at a bar with friends.”

Dante: “Need rescuing?”

Me: “Now more than ever.”

A grin breaks out before I can smother it. I wait for the typing dots. Seconds stretch, yet nothing pops back up. By the time a minute or two ticks by, I lock my phone and shove it down into my pocket along with the other unwelcome feelings he pulls out of me.

Back at the table, the noise hits like a door kicked open. Ryan is animatedly reenacting whatever, with the enthusiasm of a man who truly believes he’s the main character. Leo’s practically folded in half, but whether it’s from embarrassment or entertainment, I’ll never know. And Lucas… Lucas is laughing so ridiculously hard his eyes tear up.

“Hey, there he is!” Ryan shouts, lifting his beer. “You missed the best part!”

Ah, Jesus.

“Tragedy,” I say, sliding into the booth.

An hour passes, and at this point I’m ready to walk the fuck home. “It’s getting late. We should go.” I say, nudging my head towards the door.

“Come on,” Lucas groans, shoving my shoulder with his. “Let’s play a few rounds of pool, then we can call it a night. You love pool.”

“Since when?” I spit, furrowing my brows.

“Since now,” he chimes with the biggest smile, and I recoil at the sight, but he continues, “Come on, you’ll live. A few rounds, then we’ll go. Promise.”

“Do us a favor, would ya,” Ryan adds, leaning against Leo for support. His cheeks are glowing rosy.

“Ask the lady at the bar for the white ball and chalk,” Ryan continues, and I repress a physical recoil at his request.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” is what I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I walk off to the bar.

I retreat into a quiet pocket with dim light. It provides breathing room for the static rumbling inside my bones.