It was nice. Normal. Something I hadn’t realized I missed.
I was lining up a shot when Jason suddenly froze. His expression shifted in an instant from playful to concerned.
“Uh… Meera?”
I didn’t look up.
“If you’re trying to psych me out—”
“No,” he said quietly. “Don’t freak out. But Adrien’s here.”
The pool stick slipped from my fingers. My chest tightened.
“What?”
Jason tilted his head slightly.
“Over by the bar.”
I didn’t want to look. I really didn’t want to look. But of course I did.
And there he was. Adrien, sitting at the bar, laughing, leaning slightly toward a woman next to him. She was pretty—soft curls, bright smile, the kind of easy confidence that draws eyes without trying. They looked comfortable, like they’d been talking a while, like they’d done this before.
My stomach dropped, but then something strange happened.
I didn’t feel the devastation I expected. No gut punch. No urge to run out into the night. No wave of nausea. Just a hollow ache, a little sting, a ghost of something that used to be sharp.
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