I walk calmly, a bouquet of winter lilies in one hand and a velvet gift bag in the other. My attire is perfect, every stitch a layer of armor, every fold a calculated part of the disguise that is Arem Zyke. The innocent mask is firmly in place.
My phone chimes. I retrieve it, glance at the screen: Gen. A smile touches my lips, cool and practiced. I answer.
"Hello?"
His voice comes through, sweet and impatient. "Arem, where are you?"
My steps don't falter. "Open the door."
A soft, breathy laugh. I can hear his footsteps—light, eager—approaching the other side. I stop precisely before his apartment door. It swings open.
Gen stands there, phone still held to his ear. His face brightens. "You came."
I slip my phone back into my pocket, my polite smile mirroring his genuine one. "Yes." I offer the flowers.
He takes them, his eyes lighting up with a simple, devastating joy. "They're so beautiful," he breathes, burying his nose in the blooms.
