Pulled the key out. Locked it.
Today, I get that money.
Julian walked with his hands buried deep in his sleeves, head low as the morning wind carved between buildings like a blade. The city hadn't fully woken yet. Early cars slid across wet pavement. A mother in scrubs dragged a sleepy child toward a bus stop. The world moved — slow, cold, indifferent.
His boots scraped the sidewalk with dull, even rhythm.
Ten blocks. Then a left. Then up.
He passed a coffee shop with the chairs still flipped on tables. A barbershop sign blinked half-dead in the window. Steam rose from a manhole cover near the crosswalk like the city was exhaling something it didn't want to hold anymore.
He kept walking.
By the time he reached Elena's apartment, the sky had started to pale into something that could almost be called blue. The building stood three stories high — pale stucco, cracks around the windows, a rusting fire escape that hadn't been safe in years. A plastic tricycle lay on its side near the stairs, half-buried in old snow.
Julian climbed the steps.
Wood creaked under his weight. His left hand dragged across the railing — flaking paint, cold metal underneath.
Fourth door on the left.
Same as before.
He stopped. Looked at the door. The green paint was chipped, blistered. One corner near the knob looked like someone had punched it years ago and no one had cared to fix it.
He raised his fist.
Knocked once.
Solid. Flat. The kind of knock that said I'm not here to talk.
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Not hers.
The door opened.
Julian blinked.
There, leaning in the frame like it was his, stood Alder Keene.
Shirtless. Hair still damp from a shower. Muscles softer than they used to be, but flexed like he wanted someone to notice. A gold chain rested against his chest like a badge.
His eyes scanned Julian from boots to brow.
Then he smirked.
"Julian Crest. Didn't expect to see you outside a door that isn't chained shut."
Julian didn't react. Just stared, flat.
"I could say the same. You crawl into every bed she warms, or is this a special occasion?"
Alder tilted his head, smile widening.
"Big words from a guy who once cried over a B-minus."
Julian's voice came quiet. Controlled.
"Tell Elena I'm here for my money."
"You don't wanna come in? Smells like cinnamon toast and regrets."
Julian didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't take the bait.
Alder held the stare for a beat longer. Then turned slightly, half into the apartment.
"Babe—"
Julian heard it before she stepped out. The voice. That tone. The slow, lazy cadence of someone already entertained.
"Who is it?"
Then she appeared.
Elena.
Robe cinched at the waist. Hair mussed but styled like it wasn't. One leg bare to the thigh. Mug in one hand, phone in the other. She leaned against the doorframe just enough for it to be deliberate.
She looked at Julian like a housecat eyeing a bug it didn't care to kill yet.
"Oh... look who crawled out of his box."
Julian said nothing.
She sipped her coffee.
"Didn't freeze to death in your garage after all. That's impressive."
Julian kept his face still.
She set the mug down on the hallway table beside her and vanished inside.
Drawers opened. A cupboard slammed shut. Muffled muttering.
Then she returned.
A wad of crumpled bills in one hand. She didn't count it. Didn't unfold it.
Just tossed it toward him like a bone.
He caught it one-handed.
It smelled faintly of perfume and cheap vodka.
"There. Go buy yourself some ambition."
Alder chuckled behind her.
"Or a clue."
Julian looked down at the money.
Then up at them.
His voice was steady. Neutral.
But his eyes didn't blink.
"I promise you, I'll make it big."
Elena's brow arched. She didn't laugh. Just watched.
Alder rolled his eyes.
"You've been saying that since senior year. Maybe try something new."
Julian didn't respond.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't look back when he turned and walked down the hallway.
The floor creaked behind him, but neither of them followed.
The cash stayed balled in his fist — warm, damp, and enough.
For now.
Julian stepped out of the building and into the street. The morning was sharper now — brighter, colder. Light filtered through a hazy sky, bleaching the brick walls and casting soft shadows along the sidewalk.
He didn't stop.
Didn't count the money.
Didn't look back.
A horn blared somewhere behind him. A cyclist swerved past a parked car with a curse. The city was waking up fully now — sluggish, bitter, and loud. Julian moved through it like he didn't belong to it.
He cut across the intersection, ignoring the walk signal.
The wad of bills stayed clenched in his right hand. His thumb rubbed over the edges, feeling every ridge, every crease. His fingers had gone numb, but the paper felt heavier than it should.
He turned a corner.
There it was.
Riverside Express Mart.
A squat little corner store tucked between a laundromat and a vacant tax office. White bricks, blue awning. Cigarette posters plastered on the window. The "OPEN" sign hung crooked, but it was always on.
Always.
Julian slowed his pace as he approached.
Two more steps.
One.
Then he saw it.
The metal shutter was down.
The lights inside — off.
A taped paper sign sat crooked on the inside of the glass.
His eyes scanned it once.
Then again.
Bold black letters, written in all caps with a thick marker.
CLOSED FOR NEW YEAR HOLIDAY
Reopens Jan 2 — 10:00AM
Julian stared.
He read the words again, like they might change.
They didn't.
His breath came out slowly, fogging in the cold. The breeze caught the edge of the paper and tugged it slightly. It flapped once, then stilled.
Behind him, someone coughed. A man swept the sidewalk across the street, earbuds in, completely unaware.
Julian stepped back from the glass. The bills in his hand rustled.
The tension didn't burst — it settled. Heavy. Like the city had placed another brick on his chest and walked away.
He stood there a moment longer.
Then looked up at the sky — pale, gray, unbothered.
The kind of sky that didn't make promises.
His eyes returned to the door.
No movement inside. No light.
Just the sign. Just the silence.
He rolled his jaw once.
No curse. No shout. No reaction.
Just two words, quiet, shaped beneath his breath like iron.
"Fine. I'll wait."