The knock came again. Three times. Deliberate.
Dorian's hand was on the knob before he could think. He pulled the door open.
Priya stood in the hallway, her coat pulled tight, her face pale. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were red. She looked exhausted.
"What are you doing here?" He glanced past her, down the hall. Empty. "What if Marcus comes back now?"
"He won't." She stepped inside without waiting. "I texted him. After Marcus left. I told him the truth."
Dorian's stomach turned to ice. "You what?!"
"I told him it wasn't before. That it was happening. That I wanted to be with you." Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking. "He hasn't replied."
"Oh my God, why the hell would you do that?" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "You should have waited until I broke up with Sarah. Given him time. Given us time."
"What difference does it make?" She turned to face him. "I was going to break things off with him anyway. You knew that. You just wanted me to keep lying."
"To protect you. To protect us."
"Shippo, there is no 'us' if you're still with her." Her voice cracked. "You keep saying it's complicated. You keep asking for more time. But every time I look at you, I wonder if you're just waiting me out."
He stopped pacing. "That's not true."
"Then what is true?" She stepped closer. "If Marcus wasn't in the picture—if there was no one to hurt—would you choose me? Over Sarah?"
Would he? The timer pulsed in the corner of his vision. 5C active. 4 days left. If he said yes, he meant it. If he said no, he'd lose her. If he said nothing, he'd lose her anyway.
"I don't know," he said. "I can't… it's not that simple."
"It is that simple." Her eyes held his. "You just don't want to admit it."
She kissed him.
It started slow—her lips soft, hesitant, like she was testing if he'd pull away. He didn't. His hands found her waist, and the kiss deepened. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The world outside the room disappeared.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it.
Then he heard it—a floorboard creak in the hallway.
He pulled back, breathing hard. "Marcus could come back."
"I don't care."
"I do." He stepped away, ran a hand through his hair. "If he walks in right now—"
"Then he'll know the truth." Her voice softened. "You should break up with Sarah. Before Marcus tells her. Because he will. He's going to show her that photo or tell her something. It's better if she hears it from you."
Dorian's throat tightened. "I know."
"Then do it." She looked at him, calm and direct. "I'm not saying this to pressure you. I'm saying it because I don't want you to get blindsided."
She moved toward the door. "Figure out what you want. And when you do, come find me."
She left.
The door clicked shut.
Dorian stood there, her warmth still on his skin, her words still in his ears. A knot pulled taut in his chest. He almost called her back. His hand moved toward the knob. Then he stopped. What would he even say?
He pulled out his phone. A message from Jenna had arrived during the conversation.
Jenna: Prep tonight. Campus hall. 7pm. Don't be late.
He pocketed it, grabbed his jacket, and left.
---
The campus hall was enormous. High ceilings, polished floors, rows of folding chairs waiting to be arranged. Jenna stood in the center, clipboard raised like a conductor's baton.
"DORIAN. Good." She tapped her phone. "I need your account details. I'll send your payment after prep."
He gave them to her. "Thanks."
She nodded. "I overestimated how many hours you actually worked, but I'm in a generous mood. Check the amount when it comes through."
He moved toward the stage, but Tyler intercepted him, arms full of BLIMP cans.
"Emergency brand meeting." Tyler's voice was low, urgent. "I thought I saw a cat in a hoodie. Just walking around. Menacingly. It was staring at me. Turned out to be a backpack." He paused. "Backpacks don't stare. This one did."
Dorian took a can, set it on a table. "You need help."
"I need a security budget." Tyler set up a small folding table. "I'm selling here Sunday. The art show is the perfect market. Artists have feelings. Feelings require hydration."
Rachel appeared beside him, arms crossed. "You can't set up a booth. This is an art show."
"This IS art." Tyler held up a can. "Minimalist hydration. It's a statement."
Rachel looked at Dorian. "Does he ever stop?"
Dorian almost smiled. "Never."
Kofi materialized behind Rachel, draping an arm over her shoulder. "Mi like the hustle. Capitalism is ugly, but dis? Dis is beautiful. A man selling water to people who came to look at paint. Dat's the real art." He winked at Tyler. "You need a tagline. Something punchy. 'BLIMP: Because feelings are thirsty.'"
Tyler's eyes went wide. "That's… that's GENIUS. You," he said, gesturing at Kofi with his can, "are my new brand ambassador."
"Mi don't work for water. Mi work for respect." He grinned, pulling Rachel toward the stage. "Come. Let's make sure the lighting doesn't ruin your beautiful face."
Rachel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Dorian worked. The minutes passed. Jenna's voice, Tyler's pitches, Kofi's laughter. Normal sounds. He let them wash over him.
His phone buzzed. He stepped away.
Elise: See you tomorrow! 😊
He stared at the message. Tomorrow. The coffee date. The one he'd set up to complete 5D.
He typed quickly.
Dorian: Looking forward to it.
He pocketed the phone. One more day.
---
The prep wound down. People filtered out. Jenna caught his eye as he headed for the door.
"You okay? You've been quiet all night."
"Just tired."
She nodded slowly. "Well, the show is Sunday. I need you here bright and early. Don't be late."
He walked out into the cold night air. The campus was quiet. Streetlights hummed.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown: Enjoy the calm. The storm is coming.
He looked up. Scanned the empty paths. The dark windows. Nothing moved.
He kept walking.
---
The dorm was dark when he got back. He pushed the door open.
Marcus was on his bed, a duffel bag open beside him. He was folding clothes, placing them inside with deliberate slowness.
Kyle was in his corner, sitting motionless, his book open but his eyes fixed on the wall. He glanced at Dorian, then looked away.
Dorian stood in the doorway. "Marcus—"
"I'm staying somewhere else for a few days." Marcus didn't look up. "I need space."
He zipped the bag, slung it over his shoulder. At the door, he stopped. Looked Dorian dead in the eyes for the first time.
"I hope it was worth it."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
Dorian sat on his bed. The silence pressed down. He pulled out his phone and transferred the money to his sister.
A few minutes later, his phone rang. Simone.
"Hey," he answered.
"I can't believe you sent that much! I'm going to get the best snacks." She laughed. "Don't spend it all on candy," he said, almost smiling.
"Too late. Already planned." She laughed again. "I miss when we used to watch movies together. Remember that time you tried to sneak extra popcorn and dropped the whole bowl? Mom was so mad."
He smiled—a real one, small but real. "You cried laughing."
"I cried because I lost the popcorn."
"You cried because you thought it was funny."
She laughed. "Okay, maybe. We should do that again. When you come home."
"We will."
She hung up happy. He sat in the quiet, the memory of her laughter still warm in his chest.
Kyle was still in his corner, silent. The seconds stretched. Then he spoke.
"I saw him earlier. Marcus. He was talking to someone. A guy in a hoodie."
Dorian turned. "What did they say?"
"I couldn't hear." Kyle's voice was low, careful. "But the guy pointed at our building. Then Marcus nodded."
A cold chill ran down Dorian's spine. The texter wasn't just watching him. He was watching Marcus too. He was getting close.
His phone buzzed. His hands trembled as he read the message.
Unknown: Your roommate is more interesting than I thought. See you soon.
The message glowed. His fingers felt like ice.
[END OF CHAPTER 26]