Page 18 of Twisted Steel

My apartment building smells like old carpet, lemon cleaner, and somebody’s burned dinner.The elevator is broken again because the universe is deeply committed to my suffering, so we take the stairs to the third floor.

Steel doesn’t breathe harder, but Milo does.I make a note to mock him later when I’m not busy being stalked by crazy bikers.

At my door, I unlock the deadbolt but keep it closed.Steel waits, and that matters to me even though I wish it didn’t.

I push the door open, and he enters first.

The apartment suddenly looks smaller.My secondhand couch, my narrow kitchen, the bookshelf stuffed with medical texts and thrift-store mysteries, the blanket folded crooked over the armchair.Steel moves through it like a weapon, trying not to knock over a life.

He checks the kitchen.Bathroom.Bedroom.I stand in the doorway with Milo hovering behind me, both of us silent.

Steel returns after less than a minute.“It’s clear.”

“Wow,” I say.“Do you want a sticker?”

“No.”

“You sure?I have dinosaur ones somewhere.”

Milo brightens.“You do?”

“Not the time.”

Steel’s gaze moves over the locks.“The window in the bedroom doesn’t latch right.”

I stiffen.“How do you know?”

“I checked it.”

“I said, don’t touch my things.”

“A window lock isn’t a thing.It’s a weak point.”

“It’s my weak point.”

His eyes cut to mine.“Not anymore.”

The air changes.It’s not fair how fast he does that, how a few words from him can turn irritation into something heavier.Something I don’t want to name.

Milo looks between us and starts backing toward the hall.“I’m going to go.Before the tension kills me and ruins my perfect attendance record.”

I whip around.“You’re leaving me with him?”

Milo pauses.“Do you want me to stay?”

Yes.No.Maybe.Fuck if I know.

Steel says nothing.Which, annoyingly, gives me room to answer honestly.

“No,” I mutter.“Go home.Text me when you get in.”

“I will.”Milo points at Steel.“Don’t murder her.”Steel stares and Milo swallows.“That sounded funnier in my head.”

“Goodnight, Milo,” I say.

He leaves, the door shuts, and the silence expands.I’m alone in my apartment with a man made of violence and restraint.I should be terrified, and a part of me is.But another part is aware of how close he stands.How much space does he try not to take?How his gaze keeps tracking back to my face like he is checking for cracks.

“I’m not going to break,” I say.