Phoebe's POV
The scent hit me before I even looked up from the menu—metallic and sharp. Blood. My nose wrinkled as I traced the smell to Harold. What kind of "personal interrogation" leaves someone bleeding?
I let my eyes drift over him, landing on his sleeve where the fabric looked suspiciously dark. No mistaking that stain.
Harold caught me staring, irritation flashing across his features. His hand twitched toward my hair before he pulled back. "Let me change real quick. Go ahead and order—I'll be back."
"No problem." Alan's laugh carried an edge of amusement. Did he really think I'd faint at the sight of a little blood?
Watching Harold disappear, I couldn't help but grin. "You guys must be regulars here," I said to Alan. They even keep backup clothes on hand.
Alan threw his hands up like he was under arrest. "Don't pin this on me tonight. You want details? Ask him yourself. He doesn't keep secrets from you." Quick to throw Harold under the bus, wasn't he?
