Two hours. That's how long it took for the party to finally die.
The last of the guests had trickled out in pairs and trios, their laughter fading down the stone path until the Voss Estate settled into something close to silence. Empty glasses dotted the coffee table like forgotten monuments. A strand of fairy lights had come loose from the mantel, dangling crookedly over a half-eaten platter of finger sandwiches. No one had bothered to fix it.
Navira had helped Nami clear the first round of dishes, but somewhere between the third trip to the kitchen and the discovery that someone had spilled red wine on the Persian rug, she'd stopped pretending to be useful. She'd found a spot near the front entrance instead, phone in hand, thumbs moving across the screen as she pulled up the Uber app.
"It'll be about seven minutes," she said without looking up. "Don't miss it because I'm not paying cancellation fees."
Cole smirked from the armchair, legs stretched out like he owned the place. "You wound me."
"You'll recover."
The room settled into the kind of comfortable silence that only came after hours of noise. Nash had claimed one end of the long leather sofa, his head tilted back, eyes half-closed. Cole looked perfectly content in his armchair, scrolling through something on his phone with the lazy thumb of someone who had nowhere to be. Adrian leaned against the back of the sofa, arms crossed, gaze fixed on his screen.
Reyen stood near the window, half in shadow, a glass of something dark in his hand. He'd been quiet for the better part of an hour. Not the kind of quiet that meant he was bored—the kind that meant he was watching.
Navira felt his attention like a thread pulled taut across the room. Every time she glanced up, he was looking somewhere else. Out the window. At his glass. At the floor. But she knew. She felt it.
"Nav—"
She looked up.
Adrian had lowered his phone. He was looking at her with that particular expression—the one people wore when they were about to ask something they knew they probably shouldn't.
"Have you heard from Michael?"
The room changed.
It wasn't dramatic. No one gasped. No one dropped a glass. But the air thickened, shifted, pressed inward like the atmosphere had suddenly remembered weight.
Navira stopped moving.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. The Uber countdown ticked down—five minutes, forty-two seconds—but she'd stopped seeing it.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Adrian.
The look she gave him wasn't angry.
It was tired.
The kind of tired that came from hearing a name you'd spent weeks trying to erase. The kind of tired that settled into bones and made everything feel heavier.
"No," she said. Flat. Final. "I haven't."
A beat passed.
"And I don't want to."
She folded her arms across her chest, the phone dangling loosely in one hand.
"Why?"
The question hung in the air.
Adrian blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. He was already backpedaling, she could see it in the way his shoulders shifted, the way his hand came up to scratch the back of his neck.
"He… uh…" Adrian's voice faltered. "He said he was going to call you."
Navira closed her eyes.
A long, slow breath escaped her. She dragged both hands down her face, palms pressing against her cheeks before falling away in complete exhaustion.
"I have him blocked."
Silence.
Everyone looked at her.
Cole had stopped smiling. His phone hung forgotten in his hand, screen dimming as the seconds passed. Nash's eyes had opened fully, his head lifting from the back of the sofa.
Nash moved first.
He reached across without hesitation and smacked Adrian across the shoulder—a sharp, deliberate strike that echoed through the quiet room.
"What was that for?" Adrian complained, rubbing the spot.
"Why'd you bring him up?" Nash shot back.
"I was just asking—"
"Don't ask."
"I didn't know—"
"Well now you do."
Navira didn't wait for the conversation to continue.
She simply turned and walked away.
Bare feet against the timber floor. Soft. Measured. Each step deliberate, like she was counting them to keep herself from saying something she'd regret.
The kitchen swallowed her.
She didn't turn on the light. The moon through the window was enough—pale silver cutting across the countertops, catching the edge of a glass left drying on the rack. The cupboard opened with a soft click. She pulled down a glass, set it on the bench. Then another cupboard. Her hand found the bourbon.
The cap twisted free with a sharp crack.
She poured. Generous. Didn't bother measuring. Didn't bother with ice. Just amber liquid catching the moonlight, sloshing against the sides of the glass as she set the bottle down harder than she meant to.
She leaned back against the kitchen island, the edge of the granite pressing into her lower back. She stared into the glass. Swirled it once. Watched the liquid catch the light.
She didn't drink.
From the lounge, Reyen watched everything.
Not just the conversation. He'd seen the whole thing play out from the moment Adrian opened his mouth. He'd seen the shift in her shoulders, the way her face had gone still. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… empty.
She'd never raised her voice.
Never defended herself.
Never asked what Michael wanted.
She'd simply shut down.
Like the name alone had drained every ounce of energy from her.
Reyen's jaw tightened. He didn't know who Michael was. Didn't know what he'd done. But he knew the shape of that reaction. He'd seen it before. Hell, he'd worn it before—the thousand-yard stare of someone who'd been hurt enough times that the name itself was a wound.
His hand tightened around his glass.
Nic followed his brother's gaze. He stood near the fireplace, close enough to Nami that their shoulders almost touched. He watched Reyen watch the empty doorway. Watched the tension in his brother's jaw. The way his fingers pressed into the glass like he was restraining something.
Nic sighed.
"You wanna check on her?"
Nami looked toward the kitchen. Through the doorway, she could just make out Navira's silhouette—back against the island, glass in hand, staring at nothing.
A small nod. She didn't need to say anything else. She simply pushed off from where she'd been leaning and crossed the room, her footsteps soft and unhurried.
Reyen watched her go.
He wanted to follow.
He could feel the pull of it—the instinct to walk into that kitchen, to say something, to do something. But he didn't know her. Didn't know the story. Didn't have the right to step into whatever that was.
So he stayed.
Glass in hand.
Watching the empty doorway.
Nami found Navira exactly where she'd left her.
She didn't announce herself. Just walked to the cupboard, pulled down her own glass, and poured two fingers of the same bourbon. Then she leaned against the island beside her best friend, shoulder to shoulder, and took a slow sip.
The silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that existed between people who didn't need to fill it.
"I'm not gonna ask," Nami said finally. Her voice was soft. Gentle. "But I'm here."
Navira stared into her glass.
A long moment passed.
Then she let out a breath—something between a laugh and a sigh, hollow and tired.
"Six months." Her voice was quiet. "It's been six months. And the second I hear his name, I'm right back in it."
She set the glass down on the island. Didn't drink from it. Just let it rest there, amber liquid catching the moonlight.
"I thought I was fine."
Nami didn't say anything. She just waited.
Navira's fingers traced the rim of the glass. A slow, absent motion.
"Bella was always around," she said. "Always. At every gathering. Every dinner. Every party. She'd find excuses to talk to him. Touch his arm. Laugh at his jokes." A pause. "And I told myself I was being paranoid. That I trusted him. That I was the one with the problem."
She picked up the glass. Took a small sip. The bourbon burned on the way down.
"Then one night, I came home early from a shift at the apothecary. I wanted to surprise him."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"I was the one who got surprised."
Nami's hand found hers. Warm. Steady. No words. Just presence.
Navira's voice dropped.
"I didn't even confront her. Bella. I just… left. Blocked him. Packed his things and left them on the porch. Never asked for an explanation." She let out a breath. "Because what was there to explain?"
She finally looked at Nami. Her eyes were dry, but the weight in them was old. Carried.
"I don't want to be that person again. The one who lets a name undo her." She shook her head. "But hearing it tonight—" She stopped. Swallowed. "It made me feel small. And I hate that."
Nami squeezed her hand.
"You're not small."
Navira almost smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes.
In the lounge, Reyen set down his glass.
He'd heard everything.
Not because he'd been eavesdropping—though he had been, a little. But because vampire hearing didn't give him a choice. Every word had carried through the quiet house like she'd been standing right beside him.
Michael.
Bella.
Betrayal.
The pieces clicked together. The lie Bella had told him earlier tonight—that Navira was dating Michael Rossi—suddenly made a different kind of sense. Not a protective friend covering for a relationship. A lie with a different edge. A sharper one.
His jaw tightened.
He didn't know why it bothered him. He barely knew Navira. Had spoken to her once, in a kitchen not unlike this one, under completely different circumstances. He'd told her she reminded him of someone who hurt him. She'd stayed. That was it.
But hearing her voice crack—just a little—on the word "small" did something to him. Something he didn't have a name for.
He turned toward the window.
The moon hung low over the estate grounds, casting long shadows across the lawn. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out. The sound was lonely. Familiar.
He didn't follow her into the kitchen.
But he didn't stop thinking about her either.
Back in the kitchen, Nami finished her bourbon in one slow, deliberate sip. She set the glass down and turned to face Navira fully.
"You want to stay here tonight?"
Navira blinked. "What?"
"The guest room's made up. Sheets are clean. I have tea, honey, and a very judgmental cat who will judge you silently while you cry into your pillow."
Navira let out a small laugh. It was thin, but it was real.
"Nami—"
"I'm serious. You don't have to go home to an empty apartment tonight. Stay. We'll watch something terrible. I'll make you breakfast in the morning." She tilted her head. "You don't have to be alone."
Navira's throat tightened.
She looked down at her glass. At the amber liquid she still hadn't drunk. At her own reflection in the dark kitchen window—tired, worn, but still standing.
"Yeah," she said softly. "Okay."
She looked up at Nami. Her best friend's eyes were warm, waiting, patient.
"I think I'd like that."
Nami smiled. It was small, but it was real.
"Good."
She took Navira's glass, poured the untouched bourbon down the sink, and set both glasses in the basin. Then she reached out and squeezed her best friend's hand one more time.
"Come on. I'll show you the guest room."
They walked out of the kitchen together.
Reyen was still standing by the window when they passed through the lounge. His gaze found Navira as she crossed the room—not staring, just looking. A brief, quiet assessment. She met his eyes for half a second. Neither of them said anything.
Then she followed Nami up the stairs, her footsteps soft on the old wood.
The front door clicked shut as Cole, Nash, and Adrian finally filed out, their Uber waiting at the end of the stone path. The house settled into silence.
Nic appeared beside his brother, hands in his pockets.
"You're still thinking about her."
It wasn't a question.
Reyen didn't answer.
He just stared at the empty staircase, glass still in his hand, and said nothing at all.