Alaric
I stared at my phone screen for the third time that morning. My thumbs hovered over Nico Park's profile on Instagram, expecting him to post his daily annoying memes, but there was nothing. If he had, the fake account I created to monitor him would have alerted me.
Even on X, he hadn't posted his usual cryptic tweets. No subtweets about certain drivers who should stay retired. No shady stories or likes on old rival posts.
For two days straight, since that chaotic night at the gala, the man who had made it his mission to crawl under my skin had gone radio silent.
It should have been a relief. Instead, it felt wrong. I didn't know why I was bothered by his absence or why it stirred something inside me.
"That is the umpteenth time you have sighed today," Harold muttered as he sat opposite me in my living room, crossing his legs.
