The familiar view.
The classroom was ordinary. Too ordinary. Desks scarred with scribbles, bags slumped like tired bodies, chalk dust still hanging in the air. Students filtered out in groups, their chatter floating around him, meaningless noise. Outside, birds chirped, sunlight struck his face in warm, golden patches.
Paul's eyes wandered, not settling. Everything looked right, but it felt staged—like a picture he'd seen before, played back for him. The scrape of shoes, the murmur of laughter, even the sunlight—he knew those beats too well, like someone was pressing repeat.
His gaze flicked past Varsha. She was there too, standing in the light. She shouldn't be. Or maybe she should. He couldn't decide. A prickle rose at the back of his neck. The room seemed too clean, too aligned, like someone had dressed it up to look familiar.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to anchor himself. And then the memory flashed—sharp, vivid. Roxy's smirk. The powder burning through his nose. The bartender's cold glare. The couple tangled up like animals.
He blinked hard, forcing a laugh under his breath. "Devil's powder," he muttered. That explained it. Had to.
"Hey?" Varsha's voice cut in, her eyes fixed on him.
"Ha??... Varsha? He straightened quickly, pulling on the mask.
"What you looking at?" Varsha asked, following his gaze but seeing nothing unusual.
Paul blinked, pulling his eyes back to her. "No—it's nothing." He forced a half-smile. "Did you need something?"
Varsha hesitated, her voice dipping low. "Thanks… for the other day. You know, saving me from that trouble?"
"Oh. That was nothing." Paul's tone was clipped, practiced. "Just a job I was following."
"Job?" Varsha tilted her head.
"Yeah… a man's job." Paul stood quickly, cutting the air with the words. "If you'll excuse me, I need to grab lunch."
"Y-yeah… sure." She stepped aside, watching as he walked out without looking back.
Left alone, her brows furrowed. Strange… is this really the same person? Or am I just imagining things?
He reached the cafeteria, bought the same thing as always—a veg sandwich and a fruit juice—and paid with his phone. Routine. Safe. On his way to his usual spot, his mind started clouding again.
What actually happened last night?
Drinks. The table between them. White powder glowing under neon. His head lowering, the burn tearing through his nose. Roxy's voice, faint but sharp—"Now, welcome to the city proper."
How many lines exactly? Four… five? More?
He couldn't recall clearly. His nose still burned faintly, like a ghost wound. What did I even talk with Roxy about? Yeah… bits of it. Efficient. Cold bastard. Efficient, yeah. But everything felt fake. From start to finish. Wait—finish? How did that end?
Then—faces blurred, lights melting.
The couple on the floor, clawing at each other like animals. His laugh, bitter under his breath—"Bitches." Did he really say that out loud?
Do you remember anything?
He'd slipped up. Just a little.
Do you feel anyone watching—
I know. I know. You don't need to remind me. It won't happen again.
And then her. The woman. The smirk, the card slipping away, her chest pressing against him, her whisper—hot, teasing—"Why don't we hit your place?"
The card in his hand. His reply: "…Next time, I'm in."
That woman who took my card… who was she? He couldn't even recall her face. After that, he sat down. Roxy came back from the washroom.
That's where it stopped.
No taxi. No walk home. No key turning the lock. Nothing. Just black, and now—daylight.
Paul pressed his tongue to his teeth. Fuck. How high was I yesterday? How did I even get home?
His mind clawed at empty film, nothing to rewind, nothing to fast-forward. Just gaps. Holes.
"Hey."
"Huh?" Paul blinked out of his haze. Mia. Sitting beside him.
What's her problem now?
"You listening?"
Paul blinked, and turned his head just enough to catch the sharp line of Mia's eyes cutting into him. That stare—too steady, too heavy—made his spine twitch.
"Yeah…" His reply came out flat, like he'd been caught somewhere else entirely. He dug back into the plastic bag, pulling out his lunch. If he chewed, maybe she'd go away.
"Hnn."
Her silence wasn't silence. It pressed into him. He felt it—the weight of someone waiting, watching, building their case.
"Hey." This time she leaned in close to his ear, voice sharp, almost playful, but not really. "Did you forget?"
Forget? Forget what? His mind raced.
"I didn't." He swallowed too fast, words scratching his throat.
"Then why didn't you come?" Her tone cracked—frustration leaking through.
"I was busy." He kept his eyes on the sandwich, voice low and deliberate, like each word was locked in a safe.
"Oh? Busy?" She scoffed. "Care to elaborate, Mr. I-Don't-Care?"
"Not everything needs to be told."
Mia's lips curled into something between a pout and a snarl. She turned away, stabbing at her food, but her voice stayed sharp.
"Do you have any idea how long I waited for you?"
Paul stayed quiet, chewing slowly. He thought maybe the silence would kill it. It didn't.
"If you didn't want to go, you could've just said it. You even promised. Or—" she tilted her head toward him, eyes narrowed, "—you enjoy watching me suffer? Is that it?"
"Alright, alright." He set the sandwich down, finally looking at her. "It's on me. I'm sorry, okay? You had to wait because of me. But I wasn't lying. I was busy. Yesterday was… a lot."
"Excuses."
"What?" His voice cracked. "Why the fuck do I need to give excuses to you?"
Her eyes flared, like she'd been waiting for that slip. "I know what you were doing yesterday."
The words pierced through. His chest tightened.
What—what the hell does she mean? Paul's hand froze halfway over the air. "What did you just say?" He grabbed her shoulders, spun her slightly toward him. "Look at me and say it. Stop dancing around. What do you mean you know what I was doing?"
Blood.
Varga's dead body on the hotel. Scripted murder. Blood.
Recap of everything in the office. Sara, Simon Julian and he himself.
Blood.
Simon trying to keep him out of the case. Sara asking what happened.
Blood.
Meeting with Roxy. Red plaza.
Red blood.
Mark, Nice. Writing his name. Introducing himself. Ants dancing under the strobe light. Blood.
Lethanox. Devil's powder. Bunch of puppets. Warm feeling of her skin.
Blood. Blood.
They are watching
Mia blinked, startled. But the moment her gaze met his, her body betrayed her—her eyes dropped, her frame trembled, like her nerves were being chewed alive by something under her skin.
"It's the same as before," she thought, heart thumping. "Why can't I look at him?"
Finally, words slipped out. "Y-you were with Varsha, weren't you? Hanging out with her."
Paul's stomach lurched. "Haa?!" His grip loosened. "How the fuck—did you even get that idea?"
Mia's voice pulled him out. "I saw the way you and Varsha were talking. The way you waited for everyone to leave the class. Like you wanted to keep it a secret."
Paul blinked hard, grip finally slipping away. He leaned back, grabbed the half-eaten sandwich again. "Oh. I thought—" He bit down. "Never mind."
She lifted her gaze slowly, the tension easing, curiosity spilling in its place. "So… you weren't with her?"
"No. Why would I?"
Yeah would he? When he already....
"Then what were you doing?"
"I told you. Busy. And don't expect any explanation out of me—"
Mia cut in quietly, almost to herself: "Because it'd be for my own good."
Paul sipped his fruit juice, staring into the packet as though it might explain everything.
The air softened between them, the charge fading just a little. Mia leaned closer, tilting her head. "What are you gonna do about it, then?"
"About?"
"About us." She said it bluntly.
Paul frowned. "Oh. That?" His gaze wandered to the sky. Too bright. The sun stabbed his eyes. "How about next Sunday?"
Her lips twisted. "What if you ditch me again?"
"I promise, I won't."
"You sure?"
"Wanna bet?"
She smirked. "I'm broke."
"Doesn't have to be money."
She tapped her chin, thought for a moment, then her eyes lit. "Alright then. If you show up, I'll act as your girlfriend for the whole day. If you don't… you'll tell me who you really are. How about it?"
Paul nearly choked on his juice. "Leave it."
Her grin widened. "What, afraid? Already taken, huh? Nah– no. Impossible. Anything but that."
A flicker in Paul's eyes.
"Wait. Really? I can't believe it. You—of all people—actually have your eyes on someone?"
He didn't answer. His silence only fueled her game.
"Someone from class? Varsha? No… doesn't fit the bill. Someone outside school? Maybe. Hmmm…" She leaned in, pretending to play detective, her voice teasing, sing-song.
Paul's mind went blank.
Mia kept circling, closing in on him with guesses, but his lips stayed sealed. His silence said more than words.
"Only Roxy knows the answer."